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Title: The Soul of Golf
Author: Percy Adolphus Vaile
Release Date: October 23, 2012 [EBook #41149]
Language: English
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THE SOUL OF GOLF
MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED
LONDON · BOMBAY · CALCUTTA
MELBOURNE
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
NEW YORK · BOSTON · CHICAGO
DALLAS · SAN FRANCISCO
THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD.
TORONTO
[Illustration: GEORGE DUNCAN
The famous young Hanger Hill professional, one of the finest
golfers, and probably the best golf coach, in the world.]
THE SOUL OF GOLF
BY
P. A. VAILE
AUTHOR OF 'MODERN GOLF,' 'MODERN LAWN TENNIS,'
'SWERVE, OR THE FLIGHT OF THE BALL,' ETC.
_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS_
MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED
ST. MARTIN'S STREET, LONDON
1912
COPYRIGHT
TO
PHILIP REGINALD THORNTON
MY CO-WORKER IN IMPERIAL POLITICS
PREFACE
It is frequently and emphatically asserted by reviewers of golf books
that golf cannot be learned from a book. If they would add "in a room"
they would be very near the truth--but not quite. It would be quite
possible for an intelligent man with a special faculty for games, a
good book on golf, and a properly equipped practising-room to start
his golfing career with a game equal to a single figure handicap.
As a matter of fact the most important things concerning golf may be
more easily and better learned in an arm-chair than on the links. As a
matter of good and scientific tuition the arm-chair is the place for
them. In both golf and lawn tennis countless players ruin their game
by thinking too much about how they are playing the stroke _while they
are doing it_. That is not the time to study first principles. Those
should have been digested in the arm-chair, where indeed, as I have
already said and now repeat with emphasis, the highest, the most
scientific, and the most important knowledge of golf _must_ be
obtained. There is no time for it on the links, and the true golfer
has _no time_ for the man who tries to get it there, for he is
generally a dreary bore.
Moreover, the man who tries to get it on the links is in trouble from
the outset, for in golf he is faced with a mass of false doctrine
associated with the greatest names in the history of golf, which is
calculated, an he follow it, to put him back for years, until indeed
he shall find the truth, the soul of golf.
This book is in many ways different from any book concerning golf
which has ever been published. It assumes on the part of the reader a
certain amount of knowledge, and it essays to bring back to the truth
those who have been led astray by the false teaching of the most
eminent men associated with the game, teaching which they do not
themselves practise. At the same time it seeks to impart the great
fundamental principles, without which even the beginner must be
seriously handicapped.
It does not concern itself with showing how the golfer must play
certain strokes. That certainly may be done better on the links than
in the smoking-room; but it concerns itself deeply with those things
which every golfer who wishes really to know golf, should have stowed
away in his mind with such certainty and familiarity that he ceases
almost to regard them as knowledge, and comes to use them _by habit_.
When the golfer gets into this frame of mind, and not until then, will
he be able to understand and truly appreciate the meaning and value of
"the soul of golf."
This he will never do by following the predominant mass of false
teaching. This book is a challenge, but it is not a question of Vaile
against Vardon, Braid, Taylor, Professor Thomson, and others. The
issue is above that. It is a question of truth or untruth. Nothing
matters but the truth. It rests with the golfing world to find out for
itself which is the truth. This it can do with comfort in its
arm-chair, and afterwards it can with much enhanced comfort, almost
insensibly, weave that truth into the fabric of its game, and so
through sheer practice, born of the purest and highest theory--for
there is no other way--come to the soul of golf.
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
PREFACE vii
I. THE SOUL OF GOLF 1
II. THE MYSTERY OF GOLF 15
III. PUTTING 47
IV. THE FALLACIES OF GOLF 95
V. THE DISTRIBUTION OF WEIGHT 117
VI. THE POWER OF THE LEFT 140
VII. THE FUNCTION OF THE EYES 162
VIII. THE MASTER STROKE 178
IX. THE ACTION OF THE WRISTS 202
X. THE FLIGHT OF THE GOLF BALL 222
XI. THE GOLF BALL 283
XII. THE CONSTRUCTION OF CLUBS 316
XIII. THE LITERATURE OF GOLF 334
AFTERWORD 350
INDEX 353
ILLUSTRATIONS
PLATE FACE PAGE
GEORGE DUNCAN _Frontispiece_
I. HARRY VARDON'S GRIP 16
II. HARRY VARDON. STANCE AND FRONTAL ADDRESS IN SHORT PUT 38
III. HARRY VARDON AT THE TOP OF HIS SWING 60
IV. HARRY VARDON AT THE TOP OF HIS SWING IN THE DRIVE 82
V. J. H. TAYLOR AT THE TOP OF HIS SWING IN THE DRIVE 104
VI. HARRY VARDON. THE FINISH OF HIS DRIVE 124
VII. HARRY VARDON. THE FINISH OF THE DRIVE 146
VIII. EDWARD RAY. FINISH OF DRIVE 168
IX. JAMES BRAID. FINISH OF STROKE 190
X. HARRY VARDON. FINISH OF A DRIVE 212
XI. JAMES BRAID. FINISH OF DRIVE 234
XII. GEORGE DUNCAN. A CHARACTERISTIC FINISH 256
XIII. J. SHERLOCK. STANCE AND ADDRESS FOR IRON-SHOT 278
XIV. J. SHERLOCK. TOP OF SWING IN IRON-SHOT 304
XV. J. SHERLOCK. FINISH OF IRON-SHOT 330
CHAPTER I
THE SOUL OF GOLF
Nearly every one who writes about a game essays to prove that it is
similar to "the great game, the game of life." Golf has not escaped;
and numberless scribes in endeavouring to account for the fascination
of golf have used the old threadbare tale. As a matter of fact, golf
is about as unlike the game of life as any game could well be. As
played now it has come to be almost an exact science, and everybody
knows exactly what one is trying to do. This would not be mistaken for
a description of the game of life. In that game a man may be
hopelessly "off the line," buried "in the rough," or badly "bunkered,"
and nobody be the wiser. It is not so in golf. There is no double life
here. All is open, and every one knows what the player is striving
for. The least deflection from his line, and the onlooker knows he did
not mean it. It is seen instantly. In that other game it may remain
unseen for years, for ever.
Explaining the fascination of anything seems to be a thankless kind of
task, and in any case to be a work of supererogation. The fascination
should be sufficient. Explaining it seems almost like tearing a violet
to pieces to admire its structure; but many have tried, and many have
failed, and there are many who do not feel the fascination as they
should, because they do not know the soul of golf. One cannot
appreciate the beauty of golf unless one knows it thoroughly.
Curiously enough, many of our best players are extremely mechanical in
their play. They play beautiful and accurate shots, but they have no
idea how or why they produce them; and the strange thing about it is
that although golf is perhaps as mechanical a game as there is, those
who play it mechanically only get the husk of it. They miss the soul
of the game.
Golf is really one of the simplest of outdoor games, if not indeed the
simplest, and it does not require much intelligence; yet it is quite
one of the most difficult to play well, for it demands the greatest
amount of mechanical accuracy. This, on consideration, is apparent.
The ball is the smallest ball we use, the striking face of the club is
the smallest thing used in field sports for hitting a ball, and, most
important, perhaps, of all, it is farther away from the eye than any
other ball-striking implement, except, perhaps, the polo stick, in
which game we, of course, have a much larger ball and striking
surface.
In all games of skill, and in all sports where the object is
propelling anything to a given point, one always tries, almost
instinctively, to get the eye as much in a line with the ball or
missile and the objective point as possible. This is seen in throwing
a stone, aiming a catapult, a gun, or an arrow, in cueing at a
billiard ball, and in many other ways, but in golf it is
impracticable. The player must make his stroke with his eye anywhere
from four to six feet away from his little club face. One may say that
this is so in hockey, cricket, and lawn-tennis. So, in a modified
degree, it is, but the great difference is that in all these games
there is an infinitely larger margin of error than there is in golf.
At these games a player may be yards off his intended line and yet
play a fine stroke, to the applause of the onlookers; while he alone
knew that it was accident and not design.
The charm of golf is in part that its demand is inexorable. It lays
down the one path--the straight one. It must be followed every step,
or there is trouble.
Then there is in golf the sheer beauty of the flight of the ball, and
the almost sensuous delight which comes to the man who created that
beauty, and knows how and why he did it. There is at any time beauty
in the flight of a golf ball well and plainly driven; but for grace
and the poetry of flight stands alone the wind-cheater that skims away
from one's club across the smooth green sward, almost clipping the
daisies in its flight ere it soars aloft with a swallow-like buoyancy,
and, curving gracefully, pitches dead on the green.
Many a man can play that stroke. Many a man does. Not one in fifty
knows how he puts the beauty into his stroke. Not one in fifty would
be interested if you were to start telling him the scientific reason
for that ball's beautiful flight. "The mechanics of golf" sounds hard
and unromantic, yet the man who does not understand them suffers in
his game and in his enjoyment of it. That wind-cheater was to him,
during its flight through the air, merely a golf ball; a golf ball
'twas and nothing more. To the other man it is a faithful little
friend sent out to do a certain thing in a certain way, and all the
time it is flying and running it is sending its message back to the
man who can take it--but how few can? They do not know what the soul
of golf means. So, when our golfer pulls or slices his ball badly, and
then--does the usual thing, he cannot take the message that comes back
to him. He only knows the half of golf, and he does not care about
the other, because he does not know what he is missing. He is like a
man who is fond of music but is tune-deaf. There are many such. He may
sit and drink in sweet sounds and enjoy them, but he misses the linked
sweetness and the message which comes to his more fortunate brother
who has the ear--and the knowledge.
There is in England a curious idea that directly one acquires a
scientific knowledge of a game one must cease to have an interest in
it so full as he who merely plays it by guesswork. There can be no
greater mistake than this. If a game is worth playing well, it is
worth knowing well, and knowing it well cannot mean loving it less. It
is this peculiar idea which has put England so much in the background
of the world's athletic field of late years. We have here much of the
best brawn and bone in the world, but we must give the brain its
place. Then will England come to her own again.
England is in many ways paying now for her lack of thoroughness in
athletic sports. Time was when it was a stock gibe at John Bull's
expense that he spent most of his time making muscle and washing it.
Then it was, I am afraid, sour grapes. England had all the
championships. The joke is "off" now. The grapes are no longer sour.
The championships are well distributed throughout the world--anywhere
but in England; and we say it does not matter; that the chief end of
games is not winning them. Nor is it; but we did not talk like that
when we _were_ winning them, and the trouble is not so much that we
are losing, as the manner in which we are losing. The fact is that we
are losing because our players do not, in many sports, know the soul
of the game. The ideal is lost in the prosaic grappling for cups or
medals, in the merely vulgar idea of success. Thus it comes to pass
that many will not be content to get to the soul of a game in the
natural way, by long and loving familiarity with it.
Hordes of people are joining the ranks of the golfers, and their
constant cry is, "Teach me the swing," and after a lesson or two at
the wrong end of golf, for a beginner, they go forth and cut the
county into strips and think they are playing golf. Is it any wonder,
when our links are cumbered with such as these, that those who have
the soul of golf are in imminent daily peril of losing their own?
One who would know the soul of golf must begin even as would one who
will know the soul of music. There is no more chance for one to gather
up the soul of golf in a hurry than there is for that same one to
understand Wagner in a week.
It is this vulgar rushing impatience to be out and doing while one is
still merely a nuisance to one's fellows, which causes so much
irritation and unpleasantness on many links; that prevents many from
starting properly, and becoming in due course quite good players; for
it is manifest that the "rusher" is starting to learn his game upside
down, as, indeed, most professionals and books teach it. There can be
no doubt that the right way to teach anything is to give the beginner
the easiest task at first. About the easiest stroke in golf is a
six-inch put. That is where one should start a learner. The drive is
the stroke in golf that offers the greatest possibility of error, so
he is always started with it. It is his own fault. "Teach me the
swing" is the insistent cry of the beginner, who does not know that he
is losing the best part of golf by turning it upside down. He will
never enjoy it so much, or play so good and confident a game as he
would were he to work his way gradually and naturally from his putter
to his mashie, to his niblick, his iron, his cleek, his brassy, and
his driver. Such a one may come to an intimate knowledge and love of
the game. The rusher may play golf, but it will be a long time before
he gets to the soul of the game.
A very good golfer in reviewing a golf book some time ago stated that
he did not care in the least what happened while the ball was in the
air, that all he cared about was getting it there. He has played golf
since he was five years old, but he has clearly missed the soul of the
game.
It is not necessary to dilate upon the wonderful spread of golf
throughout the world. An industrious journalist some time ago marked a
map of England wherever there was a golf club. It looked as though it
had been sprinkled with black pepper. It is not hard to understand
this marvellous increase in the popularity of the great game, for golf
is undoubtedly a great game. The motor has, unquestionably, played a
great part in its development. Many of the courses, particularly in
the United Kingdom, are most beautifully situated. Many of the
club-houses are models of comfort, and some of them are castles. The
game itself is suitable for the octogenarian dodderer who merely wants
to infuse a little interest into his morning walk, or it may be turned
into a severe test of endurance for the young athlete; so no wonder it
prospers.
There is a wonderful freemasonry among golfers. This is not the least
of the many charms of the game, and to him who really knows it and
loves it as it deserves to be loved, the sign of the club is a
passport round the world.
Many a time and oft I see golfing journalists, when writing about the
game, stating that something "is obvious." It has always seemed to me
that it is impossible to say what is obvious to anyone in a game of
golf. Writing of George Duncan, the famous young professional golfer,
during the first half of the big foursome at Burhill, a great sporting
paper said that a certain mashie shot was a "crude stroke." The man
who wrote that article did not know the soul of golf. He saw the
mashie flash in the air, some turf cut away, and a ball dropping on to
the green. Just that and nothing more, and it was "obvious" to him
that it was a crude stroke.
One who knew the soul of golf saw it and described it. It was a tricky
green, with a drop of twenty feet behind it. To have overrun it would
have been fatal. There was a stiff head-wind. The player would not
risk running up. He cut well in under the ball to get all the
back-spin he could. He pitched the ball well up against the wind,
which caught it and, on account of the spin, threw it up and up until
it soared almost over the hole, then it dropped like a shot bird about
a yard from the hole, and the back-spin gripped the turf and held the
ball within a foot of where it fell. It was obvious to one man that it
was a crude shot. It was equally obvious to another, who knew the
inner secrets of the game, that it was a brilliantly conceived and
beautifully executed stroke. One man saw nothing of the soul of the
stroke. He got the husk, and the other took the kernel.
Much has been made of the assumption that golf is the greatest
possible test of a man's temperament. This has to a great extent, I am
afraid, been exaggerated. It is one of those things in connection with
the game that has been handed down to us, and which we have been
afraid to interfere with. I cannot see why this claim should be
quietly granted. In golf a man is treated with tragic solemnity while
he is making his stroke. A caddie may not sigh, and if a cricket
chirped he would be considered a bounder. How would our golfer feel if
he had to play his drive with another fellow waving his club at him
twenty or thirty feet away, and standing ready to spoil his shot?--yet
that is what the lawn-tennis player has to put up with. There is a
good deal of exaggeration about this aspect of golf, even as there is
a good deal of nonsense about the interference of onlookers. What can
be done by one when one is accustomed to a crowd may be seen when one
of the great golfers is playing out of a great V formed by the
gallery, and, needless to say, playing from the narrow end of it. Golf
is a good test of a man's disposition without doubt, but as a game it
lacks one important feature which is characteristic of every other
field sport, I think, except golf. In these the medium of conflict is
the same ball, and the skill of the opposing side has much to do with
the chances of the other player or players. In golf each man plays his
own game with his own ball, and the only effect of his opponent's play
on his is moral, or the luck of a stymie. Many people consider this a
defect; but golf is a game unto itself, and we must take it as it is.
Certainly it is hard enough to achieve distinction in it to satisfy
the most exacting.
When one writes of the soul of golf it sounds almost as though one
were guilty of a little sentimentality. As a matter of fact, it is the
most thorough practice which leads one to the soul of golf. Many a
good professional can produce beautiful shots, such as the
wind-cheater and the pull at will, but he cannot explain them to you;
and no professional ever has explained clearly in book or elsewhere
what produces these beautiful shots.
A famous professional once asked me quite simply, "How do I play my
push-shot, Mr. Vaile?" I explained the stroke to him. He is as good a
sportsman as he is a golfer, and would be ashamed to pretend to a
knowledge which he has not. When I had told him, he said, "Thank you.
Of course, I can play it all right, but I never could understand why
it went like that. Now I shall be able to explain it better to my
pupils."
Now it may in some measure sound incongruous, but I repeat that unless
one knows the mechanics of golf one has missed the soul of the game.
It is simply an impossibility for the blind ball-smiter to get such
joy and gratification from his game as does the man who from his
superior knowledge has produced results which are in themselves worth
losing the game for. Many a golfer, or one who would like to be a
golfer, will wonder at this. Many a game at billiards has been lost
for the poetry of a fascinating cannon when the win was not the main
object of the game; but in this respect billiards and golf are not
alike. One is not, in golf, penalised for putting the soul and the
poetry of the game into his shots, for they come of practice, and
simply render one's strokes more perfect than they would otherwise be.
So in the end it will be found that he who knows the game most
thoroughly will have an undoubted advantage.
Therefore it behoves every golfer to strive for the soul of golf.
And now, as we must for a little while leave the soul of golf, let us
consider its body, that great solid, visible portion which is the part
that appeals most forcibly to the ordinary golfer. It is this to which
the attention of players and writers has been most assiduously
directed for centuries, yet it is safe to say that no game in the
whole realm of sport has been so miswritten and unwritten as golf.
This is very strange, for probably there is no other game that is so
canvassed and discussed by its followers. The reason may possibly be
found in the fact that golfers are a most conservative class of
people, and that they follow wonderfully the line of thought laid down
for them by others. This at its best is uninteresting; at its worst
most pernicious.
Another contributing cause is the manner in which books on sport are
now produced. A great name, an enterprising publisher, and a
hack-writer are all that are now required. The consequence is that the
market is flooded with books ostensibly by leading exponents of the
different sports, but which are, in many cases, written by men who
know little or nothing of the subject they are dealing with. The
natural result is that the great players suffer severely in
"translation," and their names are frequently associated with quite
stupid statements,--statements so foolish that one, knowing how these
things are done, refrains from criticising them as they deserve, from
sympathy with the unfortunate alleged author, who is probably a very
good fellow, and quite innocent of the fact that the nonsense alleged
to be his knowledge is ruining or retarding the game of many people.
This is a most unscrupulous practice, which should be exposed and
severely condemned, for it must not be thought that it is confined to
any one branch of sport.
While we are dealing with the slavish following of the alleged thought
of the leading golfers of the world, we may with advantage consider a
few of the most pronounced fetiches which have been worshipped almost
from time immemorial, fetiches which are the more remarkable in that
they receive mental and theoretical worship only, and are, in actual
practice, most severely despised and disregarded by the best players;
but unfortunately the neophyte worships these fetiches for many years
until he discovers that they are false gods.
Perhaps one of the silliest, and for beginners most disastrous, is the
ridiculous assertion that putters are born, not made. In the book of a
very famous player I find the following words:--
It happens, unfortunately, that concerning one department of
the game that will cause the golfer some anxiety from time to
time, and often more when he is experienced than when he is
not, neither I nor any other player can offer any words of
instruction such as, if closely acted upon, would give the
same successful results as the advice tendered under other
heads ought to do. This is in regard to putting.
Now this idea is promulgated in many books. It is, in my opinion, the
most absolute and pernicious nonsense. The best answer to it is the
fact that the writer of the words was himself one of the worst
putters, but that by careful study and alteration of his defective
methods, he became a first-class performer on the green. Also it will
be obvious to a very mean intelligence that there is no branch of golf
which is so capable of being reduced to a mechanical certainty as is
putting.
The importance of removing this stupid idea will be more fully
appreciated when one remembers that quite half the game of golf is
played on the green, leaving the other half to be distributed among
all the other clubs. It is well to emphasise this. A good score for
almost any eighteen-hole course is 72. The man who can count on
getting down in an average of 2 is a very good putter. Many
professionals would throw away their putters if they were allowed to
consider it down in 2 every time. This gives us 36 for puts. With this
before us we cannot exaggerate the pernicious effect of the false
doctrine which says that putting cannot be taught, that a man must
just let his own individuality have full play, and similar nonsense;
whereas the truth is that one might safely guarantee to convert into
admirable putters many men who, from their conformation and other
characteristics, would be almost hopeless as golfers. I must emphasise
the fact that there is no department of the game which is so important
as putting; there is no department of the game more capable of being
clearly and easily demonstrated by an intelligent teacher; and there
is no department of the game wherein the player may be so nearly
reduced to that machine-like accuracy which is the constant demand,
and no small portion of the charm, of golf.
Another very widely worshipped fetich, which has been much damaged
recently, is the sweep in driving a ball. Trying "to sweep" his ball
away for two hundred yards has reduced many a promising player to
almost a suicidal frame of mind. Fortunately the fallacy soon
exasperates a beginner, and he "says things" and "lets it have it."
Then the much-worshipped "sweep" becomes a hit, sometimes a very
vicious one, and the ball goes away from the club as it was meant to.
It is becoming more widely recognised every day that the golf-drive is
a hit, and a very fine one--when well played.
Perhaps the most pernicious fetich which has for many years held sway
in golf, until recently somewhat damaged, is that the left arm is the
more important of the two--that it, in fact, finds the power for the
drive. Anything more comical is hard to imagine. There is practically
nothing in the whole realm of muscular exertion, from wood-chopping to
golf, wherein both arms are used, that is not dominated by the right,
yet golfers have for generations quietly accepted this fetich, and it
has ruined many a promising player. The votaries of this fetich must
surely find one thing very hard to explain. If we admit, for the sake
of argument, that the left arm is the more important, and that it
really has more power and more influence on the stroke than the right,
can they explain why the left-handed players, who have been provided
by a benevolent providence with so manifest an advantage, tamely
surrender it and convert their left hand into the right-handed
players' right by giving it the lower position on the shaft? If this
idea of the left hand and arm being the more important is correct,
left-handed players would use right-hand clubs and play like a
right-handed player, with the manifest advantage of being provided by
nature with an arm and hand that fall naturally into the most
important position. I think that this consideration of the subject
will give those who put their faith in the fetich of the left,
something to explain.
Almost from time immemorial it has been laid down by golfing writers
that at the top of the swing the golfer must have his weight on his
right leg. A study of the instantaneous photographs of most of the
famous players will show conclusively that this is not correct. It is
expressly laid down that it is fatal to sway, to draw away from one's
ball during the upward swing; the player is specially enjoined on no
account to move his head. A very simple trial will convince any
golfer, even a beginner, that without swaying, without drawing his
head away from the hole, he cannot possibly, if swinging correctly,
put his weight on his right leg, and that at the top of his swing it
must be mainly on his left--and so another well-worn belief goes by
the board.
So it is with the exaggerated swing which for so many years dominated
the minds of aspiring golfers to such an extent that many of them
thought more of getting the swing than of hitting the ball. It is
slowly but surely going.
The era of new thought in golf has dawned. It will not make the game
less attractive. It will not make it any more exacting, for the higher
knowledge cannot become an obsession. It sinks into a man, and he
scarcely thinks of it as something beyond the ordinary game. It brings
him into closer touch with the best that is in golf. He is able to
obtain more from it than he could before. He is able to do more than
he could formerly, for a man cannot get to the soul of golf except
through the body, and love he not the body with the love of the truest
of true golfers he will never know the soul.
This chapter originally appeared in _The Fortnightly Review_
in the United Kingdom, and in _The North American Review_ in
the United States of America.
CHAPTER II
THE MYSTERY OF GOLF
There is no such thing as "the mystery of golf." One might reasonably
ask, "If there is no such thing as 'the mystery of golf,' why devote a
chapter to it?" But "the mystery of golf" should really be written
"the mystery of the golfer," for the simple reason that the golfer
himself is responsible for all the mystery in golf--in short, "the
mystery of golf" may briefly be defined as the credulity of the
golfer. Notwithstanding this, at least one enterprising man has
produced a book entirely devoted to elucidating the alleged mystery of
golf, wherein, quite unknown to himself, he proves most clearly and
conclusively the truth of my opening statement in this chapter, that
the mystery of golf is merely the credulity of the golfer; but of that
anon.
There really is no mystery whatever about the game of golf. It is one
of the simplest of games, but unquestionably it is a game which is
very difficult to play well, a game which demands a high degree of
mechanical accuracy in the production of the various strokes. It is
apparent from the nature of the implements used in the game that this
must be so. All the foolishness of nebulous advice, and all the quaint
excuses which have been gathered together under the head of "the
mystery of golf," are simply weak man's weaker excuses for his want
of intelligence and mechanical accuracy. Until the golfer fully
understands and freely acknowledges this, he is suffering from a very
severe handicap. If, when he addresses his ball, he has firmly
implanted in his mind the idea that he is in the presence of some
awesome mystery, there is very little doubt that he will do his level
best to perform his part in the mystery play.
We do not read anywhere of the mystery of lawn-tennis, the mystery of
cricket, the mystery of marbles, squash racquets, or ping-pong. There
are no mysteries in these games any more than there are in golf, and
the plain fact is that the demand of golf is inexorable. It insists
upon the straight line being followed, and the man who forsakes the
straight line is immediately detected. In no game, perhaps, is the
insistent demand for direction so inexorable as in golf. Perhaps also
in no game is that demand so frequently refused, and, naturally, the
erring golfer wishes to excuse himself. It is useful then for him to
be told of the mysteries of golf--the wonderful mysteries, the
psychological difficulties, the marvellous cerebration, the incredibly
rapid nerve "telegraphing," and the wonderful muscular complications
which take place between the time that he addresses the ball and hits
it, or otherwise.
Now, as a matter of fact, this is all so much balderdash, so much
falseness, so much artificial and indeed almost criminal nonsense. It
would indeed almost seem as if the people who write this kind of stuff
are in league with the greatest players of the world, who write as
instructions for the unfortunate would-be golfer things which they
themselves never dreamed of doing--things which would quite spoil the
wonderful game they play if they did them.
[Illustration: PLATE I. HARRY VARDON'S GRIP
Showing the overlapping of the first finger of the left hand
by the little finger of the right. This is now the orthodox
grip.]
If there may be said to be any mystery whatever about golf, it is
that in such an ancient and simple game there has grown up around it
such a marvellous mass of false teaching, of confused thought, and of
fantastic notions. No game suffers from this false doctrine and
imaginative nonsense to the same extent as does golf. It is
magnificently played. We have here in England the finest exponents of
the game, both amateur and professional, in the world. If those men
played golf as they tell others by their printed works to play it, I
should have another story to tell about their prowess on the links.
Golf, in itself, is quite sufficiently difficult. It is quite
unnecessary to give the golfer, or the would-be golfer, an additional
handicap by instilling it into his mind that golf is any more
mysterious than any other game which is played. The most mysterious
thing about golf is that those who really ought to know most about it
publish broadcast wrong information about the fundamental principles
of the game. Innocent players follow this advice, and not unnaturally
they find it tremendously difficult to make anything like adequate
progress. Naturally, when some one comes along and explains to them in
lengthy articles, or may be in a book, about the psychological
difficulties and terrific complications of golf, they are pleased to
fasten on this stuff as an excuse for their want of success, whereas
in very truth the real explanation lies simply in the fact that they
are violating some of the commonest and simplest laws of mechanics.
Here, indeed, I might almost be forgiven if I went back on what I have
said about the mystery of golf, and produced, on my own account, that
which is to me an outstanding mystery, and labelled it "the mystery of
golf." This really is to me always a mystery, but I should not be
correct in calling it "the mystery of golf," for it is more correctly
described as the simplicity of the golfer. This mystery is that
practically every writer about golf, and nearly every player, seems to
labour under the delusion that there is a special set of mechanical
laws for golf, that the golf ball flying through the air is actuated
by totally different influences and in a totally different manner from
the cricket ball, the ping-pong ball, or the lawn-tennis ball when
engaged in a similar manner. That is bad enough, but the same
delusions exist with regard to the conduct of the ball on the green.
Now it is impossible to speak too plainly about this matter, because I
want at the outset to dispel the illusion of the mystery of golf.
There is no special set of mechanical laws governing golf. Golf has to
take its place with all other games, and the mechanical laws which
govern the driving of a nail, a golf ball, or a cricket ball are fixed
and immutable and well known, so that it is quite useless for any one
to try to explain to intelligent persons that there is any mystery in
golf or the production of the golfing strokes beyond that which may be
found in other games. Some people might think that I labour this
point. It is impossible to be too emphatic at the outset about it, for
the simple reason that it is bad enough for the golfer to have to
think at the moment of making his stroke about the things which
actually do matter. If we are going to provide him with phantoms as
well as solid realities to contend with, he will indeed have a sorry
time. As a matter of fact, about seven-tenths of the bad golf which is
played is due to too much thinking about the stroke _while the stroke
is being played_. The golf stroke in itself may be quite easily
learned; I mean the true golf stroke, and not the imaginary golf
stroke, which has been built up for the unfortunate golfer by those
who never played such a stroke themselves, and by those who write of
the mystery of golf; but it is an absolute certainty that the time for
thinking about the golf stroke, and how it shall be played, _is not
when one is playing the stroke_.
As a matter of fact the golf stroke is in some respects a complicated
stroke. Certain changes of position in the body and arms take place
with extreme rapidity during the execution of the stroke. It is an
utter impossibility for any man to think out and execute in proper
order the component parts of a well-executed drive during his stroke.
When a man addresses his ball he should have in his mind but the one
idea--he has to hit that ball in such a manner as to get it to the
place at which he wants it to arrive; but between the time of his
address and the time that the ball departs on its journey his action
should be, to use a much-hackneyed but still expressive word,
practically sub-conscious; in fact, the way he hit that ball should be
regulated by habit. If the result was satisfactory--well and good. If
otherwise, he may analyse that shot in his armchair later on; but when
once one has addressed the ball it is absolutely fatal to good golf to
indulge in speculation as to how one is going to hit that ball, and if
to that speculation one adds a belief in what is called "the mystery
of golf," one had better get right away back to marbles at once,
because it is a certainty that any one who believes in nonsense of
this sort and practises it can never be a golfer.
The bane of about eighty-five per cent of golfers is a pitiful attempt
to cultivate style. The most contemptible man at any game is the
stylist. The man who cultivates style before the game is not fit to
cumber any links. Every man should strive to produce his stroke in a
mechanically perfect manner. A good style is almost certain to follow
when this is done. Style as the result of a game produced in a
mechanically perfect manner is most desirable, but style without the
game is simply despicable. One sometimes sees misguided golfers, or
would-be golfers, practising their follow-through in a very theatrical
manner. It should be obvious to a very mean intelligence that a
follow-through is of no value whatever, except as the natural result
of a correctly executed stroke. If the stroke has been correct up to
the moment of impact, the follow-through will come almost as naturally
as a good style will be born of correctly executed strokes.
Self-consciousness is the besetting sin of the golfer. It is hardly
too much to say that the ordinary golfer devotes, unfortunately, too
much thought to himself and "the swing," and far too little to the
thing that he is there for--namely, to hit the ball.
In golf the player has plenty of time to spare in making his stroke,
and he occupies too much of it in thinking about other things than the
stroke. The essence of success at golf is concentration upon the
stroke. The analysis has no right whatever to intrude itself on a
man's mind until the stroke has been played. The inquest should not be
held until the corpse is there. If this rule is followed, it will be
found that the corpse is frequently wanting.
Golf is a very ancient game. Lawn-tennis is an absolute parvenu by its
side, and there are many other games which, compared with golf, are
practically infants. Golf stands alone as regards false instruction,
nebulous criticism, and utter disregard of the first principles of
mechanics. I have always been at a loss to understand this. It is not
as though golf had not been played and studied by some of the keenest
intellects in the land. We have had, as we shall see later on, men of
the highest scientific attainments devoting their attention to the
game, writing about it, lecturing about it, publishing things about it
which exist solely in their imagination. This truly may be called a
mystery.
I cannot leave the mystery of golf without giving some illustrations
of the things which are published as instruction. For instance, I read
lately that a good style results in good golf. This is the kind of
thing which mystifies a beginner. The good style should be the result
of the good golf, and not the golf of the style. I read elsewhere:
As a matter of fact most of the difficulties in golf are
mental, not physical, are subjective, not objective, are the
created phantasms of the mind, not the veritable realities of
the course.
I find these things in Mr. Haultain's book entitled _The Mystery of
Golf_.
There is no game where there are fewer mental difficulties than in
golf. The game is so extremely simple that it can practically be
reduced to a matter of physical and mechanical accuracy. The mental
demand in golf--provided always, of course, that the man who is
addressing the ball knows what he wants to do--is extremely small and
extremely simple. "The created phantasms of the mind" are supplied by
fantastic writers who have proved for themselves that these phantasms
are the deadliest enemies of good golf. In another place I read the
following passage:
You may place your ball how or where you like, you may hit it
with any sort of implement you like; all you have to do is to
hit it. Could simpler conditions be devised? Could an easier
task be set? And yet such is the constitution of the human
golfing soul that it not only fails to achieve it, but
invents for itself multiform and manifold ifs and ans for not
achieving it--ifs and ans, the nature and number of which
must assuredly move the laughter of the gods.
Probably this is meant to be satirical, but it is merely a libel on
the great body of golfers. It is not the "human golfing soul" which
"invents for itself multiform and manifold ifs and ans for not
achieving it." He who invents these ifs and ans is the author of the
ordinary golf book on golf, written ostensibly by some great player,
and the "ifs and ans" most assuredly, if they do not "move the
laughter of the gods," are sufficient to provoke the derision and
contempt of the golfer who feels that nobody has a right to publish
statements about a game which must act in a detrimental manner upon
those who attempt to follow them.
It is not the "human golfing soul" or the human golfing body which is
so prone to error. Those who make the errors are those who essay to
teach, and the time has now come for them to vindicate themselves or
to stand back, to stand out of the way of the spread of truth; for one
may be able to fool all the golfers some of the time and some of the
golfers all the time, but it is a sheer impossibility to fool all the
golfers all the time; and if the teaching which has obtained credence
in the past were to be left unassailed, the result would be untold
misery and discomfort to millions of golfers.
It is for this reason that I am dealing in an early chapter with the
alleged mystery of golf, for I want to make it particularly clear that
in the vast majority of cases those who attempt to explain the mystery
of golf proceed very much on the lines of the octopus and obscure
themselves behind clouds of inky fluid which are generally as
shapeless in their form and meaning as the matter given off by the
uncanny sea-dweller. In fact, the ordinary attempt to explain the
mystery of golf generally resolves itself into the writer setting up
his own Aunt Sally, and even then exposing how painfully bad his aim
is.
Nearly every one who writes about golf claims for it that above all
games it is the truest test of character, and in a degree unknown in
any other game reveals the nature of the man who is playing it, and
they proceed on this assumption to weave some of the most remarkable
romances in connection with the simple and fundamental principles of
the game. In the book under notice we are asked
... and yet why, _why_ does a badly-played game so upset a
sane and rational man? You may lose at bridge, you may be
defeated in chess, you may recall lost chances in football or
polo; you may remember stupid things you did in tennis or
squash racquets; you may regret undue haste in trying to
secure an extra run or runs in cricket, but the mental
depression caused by these is temporary and evanescent. Why
do foozles in golf affect the whole man? Humph! It is no use
blinking matters--say what the scoffers may--to foozle at
golf, to take your eye off your ball, cuts down to the very
deeps of the human soul. It does; there is no controverting
that.... Perhaps this is why golf is worth writing about.
It certainly is mysterious that any "sane and rational man" can write
such stuff about golf. This is a fair sample of the kind of thing one
gets from those who attempt to treat of golf from the physiological or
psychological standpoint. I can hardly say too often that there is no
such thing as the mystery of golf, any more than there is, in reality,
such a thing as the soul of golf, but the mystery of golf is a
meaningless and misleading term. The soul of golf means, in effect,
the heart of golf--a true and loving understanding of the very core of
the game.
It would be bad enough if the persons essaying to explain the alleged
mystery of golf knew the game thoroughly themselves, but, generally
speaking, they do not--in the case under consideration, the writer
himself admits that he is "a duffer." Now taking him at his own
valuation, it does indeed seem strange that one whose knowledge of the
game is admittedly insufficient, should attempt to explain to players
the super-refinements of a game at which he himself is admittedly
incompetent. It may seem somewhat cruel to press this point, but in a
matter such as this we have to consider the greatest good of the
greatest number, and we must not allow false sentiment to weigh with
us in dealing with the work of anyone who publishes matter which may
prejudicially affect the game of an immense body of people.
The attempts to deal with the psychology and the physiology of golf
are a mass of confused thought and illogical reasoning, but it is when
the author proceeds to deal in any way with the practical side of golf
that he shows clearly that his estimate of himself, at least in so far
as regards his knowledge of the game, is not inaccurate. Let us take,
for instance, the following passage. He says that William Park,
Junior, has informed us that
... pressing, really, is putting in the power at the right
time. You can hit as hard as you like if you hit accurately
and at the right time, but the man who presses is the man who
puts in the power too soon. He is in too great a hurry. He
begins to hit before the club head has come anywhere near the
ball.
This quotation, I may say, is not from William Park's book, but is
taken from the volume I am quoting, and the last sentence--"He begins
to hit before the club head has come anywhere near the ball"--shows
clearly that the author has no idea whatever of even a mechanical
analysis of the golf stroke, for it is impossible to begin the hit too
soon. The main portion of the power of the drive in golf is developed
(as indeed anyone with very little consideration might know) _near the
beginning of the downward swing_. This is so simple, so natural, so
apparent to any one who knows the game of golf that I feel it is
almost unnecessary to support the statement; but there are so many
people who follow the game of golf, and are willing to accept as
gospel any remarkable statement with regard to the game, that I may as
well refer doubters to James Braid's book on _Advanced Golf_ wherein
he shows clearly that anyone desiring to produce a proper drive at
golf must be hard at it from the very beginning of the stroke. The
author continues:
If in the drive the whole weight and strength of the body,
from the nape of the neck to the soles of the feet, are not
transferred from body to ball, through the minute and
momentary contact of club with ball, absolutely surely, yet
swiftly--you top or you pull or you sclaff, or you slice, or
you swear.
It is almost unnecessary to tell any golfer that the whole weight of
his body is not thrown at his golf ball, for this, in effect, would
produce a terrific lunge and utterly destroy the rhythm of his stroke.
Here is another remarkable passage--"and as to that mashie shot where
you loft high over an abominable bunker and fall dead with a back-spin
and a cut to the right on a keen and declivitous green--is there any
stroke in any game quite so delightfully difficult as that?" and my
answer is "Certainly not, for there is no such stroke in golf." When
one puts a cut to the right or to the left, one has no back-spin on
the ball. The back-spin is only got by following through after the
ball in a downward direction, and as to a mashie approach with a cut
to the right--well, the cut on a golf ball in a mashie stroke is in
practical golf _always_ a cut to the left, which produces a run to the
right. The shot as described by Mr. Haultain simply does not exist in
golf. It probably is a portion of the mystery of golf which he has not
yet solved.
Then we are told
... not only is the stroke in golf an extremely difficult
one--it is also an extremely complicated one, more especially
the drive, in which its principles are concentrated. It is,
in fact, a subtile combination of a swing and a hit, the
"hit" portion being deftly incorporated into the "swing" just
as the head of the club reaches the ball, yet without
disturbing the regular rhythm of the motion.
This again is another of the mysteries of golf, and a mystery purely
of the inventive brain of the author. The drive in golf is played with
such extreme rapidity that the duration of impact does not last more
than one ten-thousandth of a second, yet we are asked to believe that
the first portion of the stroke is a swing, but in, say, the
five-thousandth of a second it is to be changed to a hit. Could the
force of folly in alleged tuition go further than this?
We now come to an absolutely fundamental error in the golf stroke, an
error of a nature so important and far-reaching that if I can
demonstrate it, any attempt on the part of its author to explain
anything in connection with the golf stroke mechanically,
physiologically, psychologically, logically, or otherwise, must
absolutely fall to the ground. We are told "the whole body must turn
on the pivot of the head of the right thigh bone working in the
cotyloidal cavity of the _os innominatum_ or pelvic bone, the head,
right knee and right foot remaining fixed, with the eyes riveted on
the ball."
Now, put into plain English this ridiculous sentence means that the
weight of the body rests upon the right leg. It is such a fundamental
and silly error, but nevertheless an error which is made by the
greatest players in the world in their published works, that I shall
not at the present moment deal with the matter, but shall refer to it
again in my chapter on the distribution of weight, for this matter of
the distribution of weight, which is of absolute "root" importance in
the game of golf, has been most persistently mistaught by those whose
duty it is to teach the game as they play it, so that others may not
be hampered in their efforts to become expert by following false
advice.
Further on we are told, "in the upward swing the vertebral column
rotates upon the head of the right femur, the right knee being fixed,
and as the club head nears the ball the fulcrum is rapidly changed
from the right to the left hip, the spine now rotating on the left
thigh-bone, the left knee being fixed." Of course, I do not know on
what principle the man who writes this is built, but it seems to me
that he must have a spine with an adjustable end. None of the famous
golfers, so far as I am aware, are able to shift their spines from one
thigh bone to another. Moreover, to say that "the vertebral column
rotates upon the head of the right femur" is merely childish
unscientific nonsense, for it is obvious to any one, even to one who
does not profess to explain the mystery of golf, that one's spine
cannot possibly rotate within one, for to secure rotation of the spine
it would be necessary for the body to rotate. This, it need hardly be
pointed out, would be extremely inconvenient between the waggle and
the moment when one strikes the ball.
We are told that in the downward swing "velocity of the club in the
descent must be accelerated by minute but rapid gradations." For one
who is attempting to explain the mystery of golf there could not
possibly be a worse word than "gradations." The author, in this
statement, is simply following an old and utterly obsolete notion.
There is no such thing as accelerating the speed by minute gradations.
Quoting James Braid in _Advanced Golf_, from memory, he says that you
must be "hard at it" from the very moment you start the stroke, and
even if he did not say so, any golfer possessed of common sense would
know that the mere idea of adding to the speed of his golf drive by
"steps," which is what the word "gradations" implies, would be utterly
futile. The futility of the advice is, however, emphasised when we are
told that these gradations come from "orders not issued all at once,
but one after another--also absolutely evenly and smoothly--at
intervals probably of ten-thousandths of a second. If the curves are
not precise, if a single muscle fails to respond, if the timing is in
the minutest degree irregular--the stroke is a failure. No wonder it
is difficult."
It would indeed be no wonder that the golf drive is difficult if it
really were composed as indicated, but, as a matter of fact, nothing
of the sort takes place in the ordinary drive of a sane golfer. There
is one command issued, which is "Hit the ball." All these other things
which are supposed to be done by an incredible number of efforts of
the mind are practically performed sub-consciously, and more by habit
than by any complex mental directions. The drive in golf is not in any
respect different from numerous other strokes in numerous other games
in so far as regards the mental portion of it.
Now so far as regards the complicated system of mental telegraphy
which is claimed for golf in the production of the stroke, absolutely
the same thing happens in practically every game, with the exception
that in most other games the player is, so far as regards the
production of his stroke, at a greater disadvantage than he is in
golf, for he has nearly always a moving ball to play at and much less
time wherein to decide how to play his stroke. In golf he has plenty
of time to make up his mind as to how he will play his stroke, and the
operation, to the normal golfer, in so far as regards the mental
portion of it, is extremely simple. His trouble is that he has so much
nonsense of this nature to contend with, so much false instruction to
fight. If he were given a correct idea of the stroke he would have no
difficulty whatever with regard to his "gradations."
Braid has explicitly stated that this idea of gradually and
consciously increasing the speed is a mistake, and I have always been
especially severe on it as one of the pronounced fallacies of golf. I
shall deal with it more fully in my chapter on "The Fallacies of
Golf," but I may here quote Braid, who says:
Nevertheless, when commencing the downward swing, do so in no
gentle, half-hearted manner such as is often associated with
the idea of gaining speed gradually, which is what we are
told the club must do when coming down from the top on to the
ball. It is obvious that speed will be gained gradually,
since the club could not possibly be started off at its
quickest rate. The longer the force applied to the down
swing, the greater do the speed and momentum become. But this
gradual increase is independent of the golfer, and he should,
as far as possible, be unconscious of it. What he has to
concern himself with is not increasing his speed gradually,
but getting as much of it as he possibly can right from the
top. No gentle starts, but hard at it from the top, and the
harder you start the greater will be the momentum of the club
when the ball is reached.
Now this is emphatic enough, but it should not be necessary to quote
James Braid to impress upon any golfer of average intelligence that
this idea of consciously increasing his speed gradually as he comes
down to the ball is the most infantile and injurious tuition which it
is possible to impart. To encumber any player's mind with such utterly
stupid doctrine is most reprehensible.
As an illustration of how little the author of this book understands
the true character of the golf stroke, I may quote him again. In a
letter recently published over his signature he says: "Mind and
muscle--both should act freely and easily _till the moment of impact_;
then, perhaps, the mind should be concentrated, as the muscles must be
contracted, to the utmost." Now this is such utterly fallacious
doctrine that I certainly should not notice it were it not that this
book, on account of its somewhat original treatment of the subject,
has obtained a degree of notice to which I do not consider it
entitled.
This is so far from what really takes place in the drive at golf that
I must quote James Braid from _Advanced Golf_, page 56. It will be
seen from Braid's remarks that the whole idea of the golf drive from
the moment the club starts on its downward course until the ball has
been hit is that of supreme tension and concentration. It seems almost
a work of supererogation to deal with a matter of such apparent
simplicity, but when one sees matter such as that quoted published in
responsible papers, one realises that in the interests of the game it
is necessary to deal with statements which really, in themselves,
ought to carry their own refutation.
Braid says: "Look to it also that the right elbow is kept well in
control and fairly close to the side in order to promote tension at
the top." Again at page 57 he says: "Now for the return journey. Here
at the top the arms, wrists, body--all are in their highest state of
tension. Every muscle and joint in the human golfing machinery is
wound up to the highest point, and there is a feeling that something
must be let go at once." On page 58 we read again: "No gentle starts,
but hard at it from the very top, and the harder you start the greater
will be the momentum of the club when the ball is reached." At page 60
again: "Keep the body and wrist under tension a little longer." At
page 61 we read:
Then comes the moment of impact. Crack! Everything is let
loose, and round comes the body immediately the ball is
struck, and goes slightly forward until the player is facing
the line of flight.
If the tension has been properly held, all this will come
quite easily and naturally. The time for the tension is over
and it is allowed its sudden and complete expansion and quick
collapse. That is the whole secret of the thing--the bursting
of the tension at the proper moment--and really there is very
little to be said in enlargement of the idea.
Now here it will be seen that Braid's idea, which is undoubtedly the
correct one, is that the golfer's muscles, and it follows naturally
also his mind, are in a state of supreme tension until the moment of
impact, _when that tension is released_. On the other hand, we are
told by our psychologist that the moment which Braid says is the
moment of the collapse of the tension is the moment for introducing
tension and concentration. The statement is, of course, an extremely
ridiculous one, especially coming, as it does, from one who presumes
to deal with the psychology and physiology of golf, because nothing
could be further from the truth than the statement made by him. It
proves at the very outset that he has not a correct idea of the golf
stroke, and therefore any attempt by him to explain the psychology of
golf, if golf may be said to have such a thing as a psychology, is
worthless.
Our author has also explained how, in the downward swing, the speed of
the club is increased by extremely minute gradations. I have elsewhere
referred to this fallacy, but the matter is so important that I shall
quote James Braid again here. At page 57 Braid says:
Nevertheless, when commencing the downward swing, do so in no
gentle, half-hearted manner, such as is often associated with
the idea of gaining speed gradually, which is what we are
told the club must do when coming down from the top on to the
ball. It is obvious that speed will be gained gradually,
since the club could not possibly be started off at the
quickest rate. The longer the force applied to the down swing
the greater does the speed of the momentum become, but this
gradual increase is independent of the golfer, and he should,
as far as possible, be unconscious of it. What he has to
concern himself with is not increasing his speed gradually,
but getting as much of it as he possibly can right from the
top.
I am very glad indeed to be able to quote Braid to this effect, for if
we may accept his statement on this matter as authoritative, it
completely refutes one of the greatest and stupidest fallacies in
golf, which is this particular notion of gradually increasing one's
speed by any conscious effort of muscular regulation. Now if Braid's
statement with regard to the muscular work in the downward portion of
the drive is correct, it follows naturally that the explanation of the
"mystery of golf" offered by the author is merely an explanation of a
mystery which he has evolved from the innermost recesses of his
fertile imagination; but it is needless for me to say that unless such
an idea as this is absolutely killed, it would have a most pernicious
effect upon the game of anyone who came within its influence.
It may seem, perhaps, that I attach too much importance to the writing
of a gentleman who describes himself as "a duffer." It is not so. No
one knows better than I do the influence of printed matter. I have
lived amongst print and printers and newspapers for very many years,
and needless to say I know as well as any man that not everything
which one sees in print is true, but the remarkable thing about the
printed word is that even with one who is absolutely hardened and
inured to the vagaries and extravagances and inaccuracies of those who
handle type, the printed word carries a certain amount of weight.
We can easily understand, then, that to those who are not so educated
the printed word is much more authoritative. Therefore, even if the
circulation of a book or a paper may be very little, it is always
worth the while of one who has the interests of the game at heart to
do his best not only to scotch, but absolutely to kill false and
pernicious teaching of this nature, for the simple reason that even if
a book circulates but a hundred copies, or a newspaper two hundred and
fifty, which is giving them both a remarkably small circulation, it is
impossible, or at least extremely improbable, that any man will be
able, by his influence, _to follow each copy of that book or that
newspaper_. There is a great fundamental truth underlying this
statement. If one gives a lie a day's start, it takes a terrible lot
of catching. This is particularly so in connection with printed
matter, and I have had some very remarkable illustrations of the fact.
So strongly, indeed, do I realise this fact, that although I believe
that I am as impervious to adverse criticism as any one, I will never,
if I can prevent it, allow criticism of that nature which I consider
inimical to the interests of any subject with which I am dealing, to
get the slightest possible start. Indeed, I have, on occasions,
carried this principle still further, and when I have known that
matter was to appear which I considered of a nature calculated to
produce wrong thought in connection with a certain subject I have
taken means to see that it did not appear.
It will be readily understood that I am not now referring to matters
of personal criticism. I refer particularly to matters of doctrine
published and circulated, even in the smallest way. If, for the sake
of argument, the paper which spreads that false doctrine circulates
only twenty copies, _one cannot follow every copy_, and to do one's
work thoroughly and effectively it would be necessary to follow every
copy of that paper in order to counteract the pernicious influence
which it might otherwise exercise. Taking this view of the effect of
printed matter, it should be apparent that I consider the time devoted
to refuting injurious and false teaching well spent.
In the attempted explanation of the mystery of golf there are some
amazing statements which tend to show clearly that the author of that
work has not that intimate knowledge of sport generally which is
absolutely essential to any man who would even essay satisfactorily to
do what the author is trying to do. Let us examine, for instance, such
a statement as this: "Indeed, the difficulties of golf are innumerable
and incalculable. Take, for example, that simple rule 'Keep your eye
on the ball.' It is unheard of in tennis; it is needless in cricket;
in golf it is iterated and reiterated times without number, and
infringed as often as repeated." Can anyone imagine a more wonderful
statement than this? In tennis, by which from subsequent remarks it is
clear that the author means lawn-tennis, and also indeed in tennis, it
is, of course, a fundamental rule that one must keep one's eye on the
ball. It is repeatedly drilled into every player, and even the most
experienced players by neglecting it sacrifice points.
Lifting one's eye is one of the most prolific causes of missed smashes
and ordinary volleys, while the half volleys which are missed through
not attempting to follow out this universal rule are innumerable. We
are told that it is "unheard of in cricket." This indeed is a
marvellous statement. No coach who knows his duty in tennis,
lawn-tennis, cricket, racquets, or in fact any game where one plays at
a moving ball, could possibly have gone more than about half a dozen
lessons, if so many, without impressing upon his pupil the extreme
importance of endeavouring to watch the ball until the moment of
impact. This, of course, is a counsel of perfection, and is not often
perfectly carried out, for various reasons which I shall deal with in
my chapter on "The Function of the Eyes."
For one who has attempted a critical analysis of the psychology of
golf the author makes some wonderful statements. Speaking about
"looking" _versus_ "thinking," and keeping one's eye on the ball, the
author says: "As a matter of fact, instead of _looking_, you are
_thinking_, and to _think_, when you ought to _play_, is the madness
of mania." It should be fairly obvious to anyone who does not even
profess to be capable of analysing the emotions of a golfer that to
look it is necessary to be thinking--to be thinking about looking, in
fact; that it would be impossible to look without thinking; that
indeed the looking is dependent upon the thinking, or, as our author
would probably put it, he must will to look--not only must he will to
look, but he must will to hit. Those are the two important things for
him to will--to look and to hit. Now those things cannot be done
without thinking, and yet we are told that to _think_ when you ought
to _play_ is "the madness of mania."
The author goes on to give what he calls a very "simple and anatomical
reason" for this inability to see one's ball when one is thinking
instead of looking. He says:
Everybody has heard the phrase "a vacant stare." Well, there
actually is such a thing as a vacant stare. When one's
thoughts are absorbed in something other than the object
looked at, the eyes lose their convergence--that is to say,
instead of the two eyeballs being turned inwards and focussed
on the thing, they look straight outwards into space, with
the result, of course, that the thing looked at is seen
indistinctly. I am convinced that this happens to many a
grown-up golfer. He thinks he is looking at his ball, but as
a matter of fact he is thinking about looking at his ball (a
very different affair), or about how he is going to hit it,
or any one of a hundred other things; and, his mind being
taken off that supreme duty of doing nothing but _look_, the
muscles of the eye are relaxed, the eyeballs resume their
natural position and stare vacantly into space.
It will probably not be news to most of us that there is such a thing
as "a vacant stare." We probably remember many occasions when, "lost
in thought," our eyes have lost their convergence, but it will indeed
be news to most of us that it is the supreme duty of the eyes to do
nothing but _look_.
We are now face to face with this fact according to this analysis. The
author quotes the great psychologist, Höffding, as saying, "We must
will to see, in order to see aright." We now, by a natural and
logical process of reasoning, have the golfer settled at his ball, his
address duly taken, his eye fixed on the ball, and he is in the act of
"willing" to see as hard as he can. So far so good. Let us presume
that he _is_ seeing. Now we are told that to think when he ought to
play is the madness of mania. We must presume that it will now be
impossible to proceed with his stroke unless he "wills" to move. How
will he "will to move" without thinking? If anybody can explain to me
how a golfer can play a stroke without willing to hit as well as to
look, I shall indeed consider that he has explained at least one
mystery in golf.
We are told that
... if during that minute interval of time which elapses
between the commencement of the upward swing of the club and
its impact with the ball, the golfer allows any one single
sensation, or idea to divert his attention--consciously or
unconsciously--from the little round image on his retina, he
does not properly "perceive" that ball; and of course, by
consequence, does not properly hit it.
Notwithstanding this statement, we see that the author tries to
implant in the mind of the golfer the idea that during his downward
stroke arms and hands are receiving innumerable orders "at intervals
probably of tens of thousandths of a second," and that at the moment
of impact with the ball the mind has to become suddenly concentrated
and the muscles suddenly contracted. He surely will allow that in this
advice he is trying to impart at least one single sensation or idea
which is sufficient to ensure that he will "not properly perceive that
ball, and of course, by consequence, that he will not properly hit
it."
Here is another paragraph worthy of consideration: "But if one tautens
any of the muscles necessary for the stroke, the stroke is spoiled."
I think I have already quoted James Braid on the subject of tension in
the drive, to show that this statement is utterly fallacious, and that
without very considerable tautening of the muscles it would be
impossible to produce a golf drive worthy of the name.
The strangest portions of this alleged explanation of the mystery of
golf are always when it comes to the question of practical golf. Let
us consider briefly such a statement as the following:--
Both sets of stimuli must be intimately and intricately
combined throughout the whole course of the swing; the wrists
must ease off at the top and tauten at the end. The left knee
must be loose at the beginning, and firm at the finish, and
the change from one to the other must be as deftly and
gently, yet swiftly wrought, as a crescendo passage from
pianissimo to fortissimo on a fiddle.
We have already seen what James Braid says about the golf stroke--that
from the top of it right to the impact the muscles must be in a state
of the fullest tension; while it is of course well known now that the
left knee is never at any time in the stroke what is described as
loose, for from the moment that a properly executed golf drive begins,
the weight proceeds towards the left foot and leg, and therefore it
would be impossible to play a proper drive with the left knee "loose."
I deal fully with this subject in my chapter on "The Distribution of
Weight."
[Illustration: PLATE II. HARRY VARDON
Stance and frontal address in short put.]
As we proceed with the consideration of this work we find that golf is
indeed a mystery to the author. We are informed that "the golf stroke
is a highly complex one, and one necessitating the innervation of
innumerable cerebrospinal centres; not only hand and eye, but arms,
wrist, shoulders, back, loins, and legs must be stimulated to action.
No wonder that the associative memory has to be most carefully
cultivated in golf. To be able, without thinking about it, to take
your stance, do your waggle, swing back, pause, come forward, hit
hard, and follow-through well over the left shoulder, always
self-confidently--ah! this requires a first-class brain, a first-class
spinal cord, and first-class muscles"; and--if I might be pardoned for
adding it--a first-class idiot. Nobody but a first-class idiot could
possibly do all these things without thinking of them, except probably
that brilliant follow-through "well over the left shoulder!"
I have heard many things enunciated by people who considered
themselves possessed of first-class brains, but this is absolutely the
first time that I have ever heard of a good follow-through "well over
the left shoulder." A good follow-through "well over the left
shoulder" generally means a most pernicious slice. Any follow-through
at any game goes after the ball. What happens when that is finished is
merely a matter of individual style and the particular nature of the
stroke which has been played. The club, in some cases, may come back
over the left shoulder; in other cases it may point right down the
course after the ball; in another it may swing practically round the
body. It is little touches such as these which show the lack of
practical acquaintance with the higher science of the game. No one
acquainted with the inner secrets of golf could possibly refer to that
portion of a stroke which is coming back from the hole as "the
follow-through."
As an instance of absolutely ridiculous nonsense I may quote the
following:
What the anatomists say is this, that, if the proper orders
are issued from the cortex, and gathered up and distributed
by the corpora striata and the cerebellum, are then
transferred through the crus cerebri, the pons varolii, the
anterior pyramid and the medulla oblongata, down the lateral
columns of the spinal cord into the anterior cornua of grey
matter in the cervical, the dorsal and the lumbar region,
they will then "traverse the motor nerves at the rate of
about 111 feet a second, and speedily excite definite groups
of muscles in definite ways, with the effect of producing the
desired movements."
Of course this to the ordinary golfer is absolute nonsense, but to the
skilled anatomist and student of psychology, who may also be a golfer,
it is worse than nonsense, for the simple reason that assuming that
the measurement of the speed at which these orders travel has been
even approximately measured as proceeding at the rate of "about 111
feet a second," it is obvious that such a rate of progression would
be, by comparison with the speed at which the golf stroke is
delivered, merely a gentle crawl.
One might be excused if one thought that this book was merely a
practical joke perpetrated by a very ingenious person at the expense
of golfers, but I do not think we should be justified in assuming
that, for then we should have to speak in a very much severer manner
than we are doing; for when one reads about such things as "the twirl
of the wrists, the accelerated velocity, and the hit at the impact,"
one is justified in assuming that even if the psychology of the author
were sound, his knowledge of the mechanical production of the golf
drive is extremely limited. He says:
Psychologists are, I believe, agreed that there is in the
mind a faculty called the Imagination. Indeed, there has been
a whole essay written and printed on "The Creative
Imagination."
Even if psychologists are not agreed on this subject we could, I
think, take as irrefutable evidence of the existence of the "creative
imagination" the work under notice.
It is curious to find one who is endeavouring to analyse matters which
are psychologically abstruse exhibiting the greatest confusion of
thought. Let us take an illustration. He says: "We misuse words; we
construct an artificial and needless barrier between mind and matter.
By 'matter' we simply mean something perceptible by our five senses."
Let us consider this statement. It would be impossible to imagine a
more sloppy definition of matter. According to this definition of
matter, glass is not matter, for it is not perceptible by our sense of
hearing, smelling, or tasting. It is evident that the author
means--which in itself is erroneous--to define matter as something
which is perceptible by one of the five senses, but in an analytical
psychologist so overwhelming an error is inexcusable. It is manifest
that he is not equal to the task which he has set himself in any way
whatever. He says that "The golfer, strive as he may, is the slave of
himself." Here again we have a gross libel on the poor golfer. The
ordinary golfer is not the slave of himself. He is the slave of
thoughtless persons who write about things which they do not
understand, and, in some cases, the bond-servant of those who write
without understanding of the things which they do very well.
Elaborating this idea, the author proceeds: "It is not a matter of
want of strength or want of skill, for every now and again one proves
to oneself by a superlative stroke that the strength and the skill are
there if only the mind could be prevailed upon to use them." This
truly is a marvellous statement from one who essays a critical
analysis of anything. It is undoubtedly possible that a player might
be set at a tee blindfolded, and provided his caddie put down
sufficient balls for him to drive at and he continued driving long
enough, he would unquestionably hit "a superlative stroke." Would this
prove that the strength and the skill are there? I wonder if our
author has ever heard of such a thing as "a ghastly fluke"?
A little later on we read: "Time and time again you have been taught
exactly how to stand, exactly how to swing," and he then proceeds to
wonder how it is that the unfortunate golfer is so prone to error. The
reason is not far to seek. It is found in the work of such men as our
author, and others who should know much better than he; it is found in
the work of men who teach the unfortunate golfer to stand wrongly, to
swing wrongly. These, in company with our author, will be duly
arraigned in our chapter on "The Distribution of Weight." That is the
plain answer why golfers do not get the results which they should get
from the amount of work and thought which they put into their game,
for golfers are, unquestionably, as a class, the most thoughtful of
sportsmen. If they were not, a book such as I am dealing with could
not possibly have secured a publisher. Continuing his argument on this
subject he says:
... and yet how often it has taken three, four, and even five
strokes to cover those hundred yards! It would be laughable
were it not so humiliating--in fact, the impudent spectator
does laugh until he tries it himself; then, ah! then he, too,
gets a glimpse into that mystery of mysteries--the human
mind--which at one and the same time wills to do a thing and
fails to do it, which knows precisely and could repeat by
rote the exact means by which it is to be accomplished, yet
is impotent to put them in force. And the means are so
simple. So insanely simple.
To which I say, "And the means are indeed so simple, so sanely
simple." It is writers who do not understand the game at all who make
them insanely complex. As a definite illustration of what I mean let
me ask the man who writes that the golfer who desires to drive
perfectly "could repeat by rote the exact means by which it is to be
accomplished" where, in any book by one of the greatest golfers, or in
his own book, the golfer is definitely instructed that his weight must
not at any time be on his right leg. In fact the author himself, in
common with everybody who has ever written a golf book, _deliberately
misinforms the golfer in this fundamental principle_.
How, then, can a man who claims to be possessed of an analytical mind
say that the ordinary golfer could repeat by rote the exact means by
which anything is to be accomplished when it is now a matter of
notoriety that practically the whole of the published teaching of golf
is fundamentally unsound?
Speaking of the golfer's difficulties in the drive the author says,
"The secret of this extraordinary and baffling conflict of mind and
matter is a problem beyond the reach of physiology and psychology
combined." Yes, there is no doubt that it is; but it is a matter which
is well within the reach of the most elementary mechanics and common
sense.
It will probably seem that I am dealing with this attempt to explain
the mystery of golf very severely, but I do not feel that I am
treating the matter too strictly. Golf is enveloped and encompassed
round about with a wordy mass of verbiage. All kinds of men and some
women, who have no clearly defined or scientific ideas, have presumed
to put before the unfortunate golfer directions for playing the game
which have landed him in a greater maze of bewilderment than exists in
any other game which I know. It is obvious that if a man is both "a
duffer" and a slow thinker it will be unsafe for him, until he has
improved both his game and his mental processes, to attempt to explain
the higher science of golf for anyone. It should be sufficient for him
to study the mechanical processes whereby he may improve his own game
until at least he has been able to take himself out of the class which
he characterises himself as the duffers. To explain golf
scientifically in the face of the mass of false doctrine which
encumbers it, it is necessary that one should be, if not at least a
quick thinker, an exact thinker, and that one should know the game to
the core.
It seems to me that there is possibly a clue to the remarkable
statements which we get in this book in the following quotation, which
I take from the chapter on "Attention":
When I first rode a bicycle, if four or five obstacles
suddenly presented themselves, these to the right, those to
the left, I found I could not transfer my attention from one
to the other sufficiently quickly to give the muscles the
requisite orders--and I came a cropper ... and so with the
golf stroke.
It seems to me that here we have the key of the author's difficulty.
His mind was fixed on the obstacles--some to the right and some to the
left. In similar circumstances most budding cyclists, and I have
taught many, confine their attention to the clear path right ahead,
and consequently the obstacles "these to the right, those to the left"
do not trouble them. This, psychologically speaking, is a curious
confession of the power of outside influences to affect the main
issue. It seems to me that right through the consideration of this
subject the author, like many other golfers, has been devoting his
mind far too much to the things which he imagines about golf, instead
of to the things which are, and they are the things which matter. No
wonder, then, that he has "come a cropper."
There is a chapter called "The One Thing Necessary," which starts as
follows: "But, since I stated that my own belief is that only one
thing can be 'attended' to at a time, you will probably be inclined to
ask me what is the most important thing? what precisely ought we to
attend to at the moment of impact of club with ball? Well, if you ask
me, I say _the image of the ball_." This is really an astonishing
statement. "At the moment of impact of club with ball" the image of
the ball does not really matter in the slightest degree. As I shall
show later on, the eye has fulfilled its functions long before the
impact takes place. Also, of course, to the non-analytical mind it
will be perfectly obvious that _the image of the ball_ could be just
as well preserved if the golfer had lifted his head three to six
inches, but his stroke would have been irretrievably ruined.
Now, as a matter of fact, by the time the club has arrived at the ball
it is altogether too late to attend to anything. All the attention has
already been devoted to the stroke, and it has been made or marred. As
we have clearly seen from what James Braid says about the stroke the
moment of impact is the time when the attention and the tension is
released, so it will obviously be of no service to us to endeavour
forcibly to impress upon our minds in any way the image of the ball.
If there is any one thing to think of at the moment of impact, the
outstanding point of importance must be that the eyes should be in
exactly the same place and position as they were at the moment of
address.
Here is a most remarkable sentence:--
It is a pity that so many literary elucidators and
explicators of the game devote so many pages to the
subsidiary circumstances.... I wonder if they would pardon
me if I said that, as a matter of simple fact, if one
_attended to the game_ (with all that that means), almost one
could stand and strike as one chose, and almost with any kind
of club.
There is a large amount of truth in this; but it comes most peculiarly
from the author of this book, for of all the literary obfuscators whom
I have ever come across I have never met his equal in attention to the
"subsidiary circumstances" and neglect of the real game. Much time is
wasted in an analysis of the nature of attention. Now, attention,
psychologically, is somewhat difficult to define from the golfing
point of view, but as a matter of simple and practical golf there is
no difficulty whatever in explaining it. Attention in golf is merely
habit acquired by practice and by starting golf in a proper and
scientific manner. I shall have to deal with that more fully in my
next chapter, so I shall not go into the matter here. Suffice it to
say that lifting the eye at golf is no more a lack of attention than
is lifting the little finger in the club-house. It is merely a vice in
each case--a bad habit, born probably of the fact that in neither case
did the man learn the rudiments of the game thoroughly.
We are told that "the arms do not judge distance (save when we are
actually touching something), nor does the body, nor does the head.
The judging is done by the eyes"; but we must not forget that the arms
accurately measure the distance.
CHAPTER III
PUTTING
The great mystery to me, not about golf, but about the work of the
greatest golfers, is the attitude which they all adopt with regard to
putting. Now, putting may quite properly be said to be the foundation
of golf. It really is the first thing which should be taught, but, as
a matter of fact, it is generally left until the last. Practically all
instructors start the player with the drive. It is beyond question
that the drive is the most complex stroke in golf, and it is equally
beyond question that the put is the simplest. There can be no shadow
of doubt whatever that the only scientific method of instructing a
person in the art of playing golf is one which is diametrically
opposed to that adopted by practically all the leading players of the
world. Instead of starting the beginner at the tee and taking him
through his clubs in rotation to the putting-green, the proper order
for sound tuition would be to start him six inches from the hole and
to back him through his clubs to the tee.
This is so absolutely beyond argument that I need not labour the point
here, except in so far as with it is bound up the important question
of attention--that is, of riveting one's eye and one's mind on the
ball for the whole period employed in making the stroke. As I said in
the preceding chapter, attention is habit. Attention includes the
habit of keeping the eye on the ball and the head still until the
stroke has been played. The best way of inculcating the vices of
lifting the head and the eye during the stroke is to teach the player
the drive first. It stands to reason that if a player is started, say,
with a six-inch put, that he has at the moment of making his stroke
both the ball and the hole well within the focus of his eyes, so that
it is absolutely unnecessary for him to lift his eye in order to
follow the ball. It therefore follows that he is not tempted to lift
his eye.
Now, no player should be allowed to go more than two or three feet
from the hole until he has learned to hole out puts at that distance
with accuracy and confidence. By the time he is allowed to leave the
putting-green, he will have acquired the habit of attention.
It will be clearly seen that, starting now from the edge of the green
with his chip shot, he is much more certain of striking the ball and
getting it away than he would be were he put on to the more uncertain
stroke in the drive; so by a gradual process of education the player
would come in time to the drive, and by the time he arrives at the
most complicated stroke in the game--the stroke wherein is the
smallest margin of error--he has cultivated the habit of attention,
which includes keeping one's head still.
Of course, this is a counsel of perfection which one does not expect
to find carried out, although a similar course is followed by all good
teachers in every trade, profession, science, or game, but as I have
said before, in golf there is a tremendous amount of false teaching
which is generally followed. It is, however, a certainty that any
beginner who has the patience, perseverance, and moral courage to
educate himself on these lines, will find golf much easier to play
than it would be if he had started, as nearly everybody wants to
start, with "the swing." It is bad enough that putting should be
relegated to the position it is, but the attitude of the great
writers, or perhaps I should say the great golfers who have written
books about golf, aggravates the offence, and forms what is to me the
greatest mystery in connection with golf literature.
I shall give here what Braid, Vardon, and Taylor have to say about
putting. Let me take Vardon first. At page 143 of _The Complete
Golfer_ he says:
For the proper playing of the other strokes in golf, I have
told my readers to the best of my ability how they should
stand and where they should put their feet. But except for
the playing of particular strokes, which come within the
category of those called "fancy," I have no similar
instruction to offer in the matter of putting. There is no
rule and there is no best way.
The fact is that there is more individuality in putting than
in any other department of golf, and it is absolutely
imperative that this individuality should be allowed to have
its way.
And now comes a very wonderful statement:
I believe seriously that every man has had a particular kind
of putting method awarded to him by Nature, and when he putts
exactly in this way he will do well, and when he departs from
his natural system he will miss the long ones and the short
ones too. First of all, he has to find out this particular
method which Nature has assigned for his use.
Again on page 144 we read that when a player is off his putting
... it is all because he is just that inch or two removed
from the stance which Nature allotted to him for putting
purposes, but he does not know that, and consequently
everything in the world except the true cause is blamed for
the extraordinary things he does.
Let us now repeat what James Braid has to say on the important matter
of putting. On page 119 of _How to Play Golf_ he says:
It happens, unfortunately, that concerning one department of
the game that will cause the golfer some anxiety from time to
time, and often more when he is experienced than when he is
not, neither I nor any other player can offer any words of
instruction such as, if closely acted upon, would give the
same successful results as the advice tendered under other
heads ought to do. This is in regard to putting.
Further on we are informed that "really great putters are probably
born and not made."
So far we must admit that this is extremely discouraging, but there is
worse to follow.
Let us now see what Taylor has to say about putting. At page 83 in his
book, _Taylor on Golf_, and in the chapter, "Hints on Learning the
Game," he says:
Coming back to the subject of actual instruction. After a
fair amount of proficiency has been acquired in the use of
the cleek, iron, and mashie, we have the difficulty of the
putting to surmount. And here I may say at once it is an
absolute impossibility to teach a man how to putt.
Even many of the leading professionals are weak in this
department of the game. Do you think they would not improve
themselves in this particular stroke were such a thing within
the range of possibility? Certainly they would. The fact is
that in putting, more than in aught else, a very special
aptitude is necessary. A good eye and a faculty for gauging
distances correctly is a great help, indeed, quite a
necessity, as also is judgment with regard to the requisite
power to put behind the ball. Unfortunately, these are things
that cannot be taught, they must come naturally, or not at
all.
All that is possible for the instructor to do is to discover
what kind of a putting style his pupil is possessed of,
offer him useful hints, and his ultimate measure of success
is then solely in his own hands.
It is easy to tell a pupil how he must needs hold his clubs
in driving or playing an iron shot, but in putting there is
hardly such a necessity. The diversity of styles accounts for
this, and in this particular kind of stroke a man must be
content to rely upon his own adaptability alone.
Now in the same book on page 240, in the chapter on "The Art of
Putting," we read:
The drive may be taught, the pupil may be instructed in the
use of the cleek, the iron, or the brassie, but in putting he
must rely upon his own powers of reducing the game to an
actual science. The other strokes are of a more or less
mechanical character; they may be explained and demonstrated,
but with the ball but a few feet distant from the hole there
are many other things to be considered, and hints are the
only things that can be offered. The pupil may be advised
over the holding and grip of the putter, but as far as the
success of the shot is concerned it remains in his own hands.
In passing, I may remark that it seems to me that in this latter
respect the put is not vastly different from any other stroke in golf,
or indeed, for the matter of that, in any other game.
Continuing, Taylor says:
Putting, in short, is so different to any other branch of the
game that the good putter may be said to be born, not made.
That this is really the case is proved by the fact that many
of the leading players of the day, professionals and amateurs
alike, are very frequently weaker when playing with the
putter than when performing with any other of their clubs.
Speaking solely of professionals, is it at all probable that
this would be so were they capable of improving themselves in
this particular department? Certainly not.
Now it will be admitted that this is a very gloomy outlook for him who
desires to learn how to put. He is thrown entirely on his own
resources. I must quote Taylor once again with regard to putting. He
says:
And yet it is none the less true that to putt perfectly
should be the acme of one's ambition. Putting is the most
important factor of success, for it happens very frequently
that a man may meet a stronger driver, or a better performer
with the iron clubs, and yet wrest the leadership from him
when near the hole.
There can be no doubt whatever of the truth of what Taylor says in
this last paragraph--"Putting is the most important factor of
success"; yet we are confronted with the amazing statement made by the
three greatest masters of the game, men who between them have
accounted for fourteen open championships, men whose living depends
upon playing golf and teaching it, that "the most important factor of
success" cannot be taught. There is no possible doubt about their
ideas on this subject. They deliberately tell the unfortunate golfer,
or would-be golfer, that good putters are born and not made, that
putting cannot be taught, and that each person must be left to work
out his own salvation.
It is admitted that putting is practically half the game. It has been
well illustrated in the following way:--Seventy-two strokes is a good
score for almost any course. The man who gets down in two every time
is not a bad putter. This allows him thirty-six strokes on the green,
which is exactly one-half of his score. Now what does this statement
which is made by Braid, Vardon, and Taylor amount to? It is an
assertion by them that they are unable to teach half of the game of
golf, and _that_ the most important half, for, as we have seen, Taylor
says that it is "the most important factor of success." Now surely
there is something wrong here. As a matter of fact it is the most
absolute nonsense which it is possible to imagine. Putters are not
born. They are made and shaped and polished to just as great an extent
as any metal putter that ever was forged. Putting is the simplest and
easiest thing in golf to learn and to teach, and it is positively
wrong for men of the eminence in their profession which these players
enjoy to append their names to statements which cannot but have a
deleterious effect on the game generally, and particularly on the play
of those who are affected by reading such absolutely false doctrine.
There are certain fundamental principles in connection with putting
which cannot be disregarded. It is quite wrong to say that the first
thing to consider is some particular idiosyncrasy which a man may have
picked up by chance. The idea of Nature having troubled herself to
allot any particular man or men, or, for the matter of that, women or
children, any particular styles for putting is too ridiculous to
require any comment. Needless to say, very many people have
peculiarities which they exhibit in putting, as well as in other
matters, but in many cases it is the duty of the capable instructor
not to attempt to add the scientific principles of putting to a
totally wrong and ugly foundation. The first duty of one who knows the
game and how to teach it is to implant in the mind of his pupil the
correct mechanical methods of obtaining the result desired. If, after
he has done this, it be found that his natural bent or idiosyncrasy
fits in with the proper mechanical production of the stroke, there is
no harm in allowing him to retain his natural style; but if, for the
sake of argument, it should be found that his natural method is
unsuitable for the true production of the stroke, there is only one
thing to do, which is to cut out his natural method, and make him put
on the lines most generally adopted.
Nor is this difficult to do, for it stands to reason that anyone who
is a beginner at golf has not already cultivated a style of his own.
The statements of these three great golfers are absolutely without
foundation--in fact, they are indeed so far from the truth that I have
no hesitation whatever in saying that in at least ninety per cent of
the cases which come before a professional for tuition, if the subject
is properly dealt with by an intelligent teacher, putting is, without
any shadow of doubt, the easiest portion of golf to teach and to
learn. In the face of the mischievous statements which have been so
widely circulated in connection with the difficulty of learning the
art of putting, one cannot possibly be too emphatic in stating the
truth. In doing this, let it be understood that I am not stating any
theory or publishing any idea which I am not prepared fully to
demonstrate by practical teaching. It is a curious thing, but one to
which I do not wholly object, that those who read my books seem to
consider that they have a personal claim on my services as well, and
it is no uncommon thing for me to receive visits from men who are in
trouble about their putting, their drive, or their approach, and I
have not, as a rule, any very great trouble in locating the seat of
the difficulty.
The pernicious influence of such teaching as that which I have just
quoted repeatedly comes before me. I know men who seem to consider
that the chief art of putting in golf is bound up in another art,
namely, the art of the contortionist, whereas, of course, nothing
could be further from the truth. Putting, as I shall show later on, is
an extremely simple operation. In fact its simplicity is so pronounced
that little children, almost without instruction, do it remarkably
well, because they do it naturally. It is only when people come to the
game possibly rather late in life, and perhaps with habits acquired
from other games, and in addition to this are told that they must
evolve their own particular style, that we find the difficulty, for
the style which is evolved is, in the vast majority of cases, no style
at all, and the stroke is played unnaturally.
That is what I have to say with regard to the "difficulty" of putting.
I shall, later on, deal with the principles involved in putting. It
will, in the meantime, be sufficient for me to consider and criticise
these statements generally. If this were my own uncorroborated
opinion, it is possible that the definite statements of three men like
Braid, Taylor, and Vardon might outweigh what I have said, although I
do not believe that even in that case they would; for what I have
quoted is such obvious nonsense that it would indeed be to me a
mystery if any golfer possessed of ordinary common sense could accept
any view of the matter other than that which I put forward.
However, when dealing with names like these, it is worth while to
reinforce oneself. Let us see what James Braid has to say about the
matter in _Advanced Golf_. At page 144, chapter x., dealing with
"Putting Strokes," Braid says: "Thus practically any man has it in his
power to become a reasonably good putter, and to effect a considerable
improvement in his game as the result." Here is the message of hope to
the putter. It will be remembered that Taylor states that the good
putter may be said to be born, not made, and that Braid practically
said the same thing. This, of course, is nonsense, and if any
refutation were necessary, James Braid himself is the refutation. The
first time I saw Braid putting, he was trying a Vaile putter for me
at Walton-on-Heath. He came down on the ball before he had come to the
bottom of his swing, and finished on the green quite two inches in
front of the spot where the ball had been. Before I had reflected in
the slightest degree, I came out quite naturally with the question,
"Do you always put like that?" "Yes," said Braid in his slow, quiet
way, "and it is the best way." By this time I had remembered who Braid
was, and I did not pursue the subject any further, but I thought a
good deal. I thought that Braid would, in due course, find out that it
was not the best way, and I fully understood why he was such a bad
putter.
Since then Braid has found out that his method was wrong. He has
altered it, and now plays his puts in the only proper way, which I
shall refer to later on. As everybody knows, Braid is now a very fine
putter--_but he was not born so_. If ever there was an illustration of
a fine putter made out of a bad putter, James Braid is the outstanding
example, and James Braid is the answer to Taylor's question as to
whether a professional can improve his putting or not. Any
professional whose putting is bad can improve it by using his brains,
because when a professional puts badly it is rarely a question of his
hands, his eye, or his wrist being wrong. The seat of the deficiency
is much deeper than that.
Let us now see what James Braid has to say about putting. At page 146
of _Advanced Golf_ he practically eats his own words. This is what he
says:
Of course, they say that good putters are born and not made,
and it is certainly true that some of the finest putters we
know seem to come by their wonderful skill as a gift, and
nowadays constantly putt with an ease and a confidence that
suggest some kind of inspiration. But it is also the fact
that a man who was not a born putter, and whose putting all
through his golfing youth was of the most moderate quality,
may by study and practice make himself a putter who need fear
nobody on any putting green. I may suggest that I have proved
this in my own case. Until comparatively recently there is no
doubt that I was really a poor putter. Long after I was a
scratch player I lost more matches through bad putting than
anything else. I realised that putting was the thing that
stood in the way of further improvement, and I did my best to
improve it, so that to-day my critics are kind enough to say
that there is not very much wanting in my play on the putting
green, while I know that it was an important factor in
gaining for me my recent championship.
So I may be allowed the privilege of indicating the path
along which improvement in this department of the game may
best be effected; and what I have to say at the beginning is,
that putting is essentially a thing for the closest
mathematical and other reckoning. It is a game of
calculations pure and simple, a matter for the most careful
analysis and thought.
Now here at least we have common sense with regard to putting. Braid
holds himself out as an example of the bad putter turned into the good
putter. He does not, it is true, tell us why he was a bad putter and
how he changed his bad methods to his present excellent method, but I
have already given the key to that. I shall, however, deal with it
more fully when I come to the question of the practice of putting.
Braid says on page 147 of _Advanced Golf_, still speaking of putting,
that "the mechanical part is comparatively simple." He continues:
"Putts most generally go wrong because the strength or the line, or
both, were misjudged, and they were so misjudged because the different
factors were not valued properly, and because one or two of them were
very likely overlooked altogether."
I think very few golfers will be inclined to dispute the opening
statement that "Putts most generally go wrong because the strength or
the line, or both, were misjudged." I may say that I never heard of a
put which went wrong for any other reason. If the strength and the
line are both right, one always has an excellent chance of ending in
the tin! Braid tells us again on page 148
... that what I call the mechanical part of putting--the
hitting of the ball--is simple and sure in comparison with
the other difficulties that are presented when a long putt
has to be made; yet it is hardly necessary to say to any
experienced golfer that there are absolutely thousands of
players who fail in their putting, not because of any lack of
powers of calculation or a good eye, steady hand, and
delicacy of touch, but simply because they have fallen into a
careless way of performing this mechanical part, and of
almost feeling that any way of hitting the ball will do so
long as it is hit in the right direction and the proper
degree of strength is applied.
Again Braid says on page 149:
Absolutely everything depends on hitting the ball truly, and
the man who always does so has mastered one of the greatest
difficulties of the art of putting. A long putt can never be
run down except by a fluke when the ball has not been hit
truly, however exactly all the calculations of line and
strength have been made.
Now the point which I am making, and I hope making in such a manner
that no one will ever dare even to attempt to refute it, is the fact
that the mechanical operation of putting is one of extreme simplicity,
entirely devoid of mystery, and capable of acquirement by persons even
of a very low order of intelligence. I want to make it plain beyond
the possibility of doubt that putting is the foundation of golf and
that it can be very easily learned, provided always that the
instructor has a proper idea of the mechanics of the put. Generally
speaking, when one uses the word "mechanics" a golfer is afraid that
he is about to receive some abstruse lecture illustrated by diagrams
and mathematical formulæ, but it is not so. It is essential to a
thorough knowledge and enjoyment of the game of golf that the golfer
should understand the mechanics of putting.
James Braid says that it is a matter of mathematics and calculation,
and he is not far wrong; but the mechanics of the put are of such
extreme simplicity that no golfer or would-be golfer need be
discouraged because one refers to the elementary science which is
involved in the making of the perfect put. Rather let him be thankful
that he has James Braid's corroboration of the fact, which I have for
many years past tried to impress upon golfers, that the main thing to
strive at in connection with improving their game is a proper
understanding of the mechanical principles involved in producing the
strokes. Until the ordinary golfer has this he will not progress so
rapidly as he may desire.
I think that we may now consider that it _is_ possible to teach people
how to put; so, having disposed of this fable, let us consider the
most important features of putting. I do not propose here to
illustrate the manner in which the stroke is to be played. I have done
that fully in _Modern Golf_ and in other places. I am here concerning
myself mainly with the fundamental principles. When these are properly
grasped, and these I may say are practically all arm-chair golf, any
person of ordinary intelligence should be able to go on to a putting
green, and by carrying them out become quite a good putter.
Let us first consider the manner of propulsion of the ball. Provided,
for the sake of argument, that the putting-green were an enlarged
billiard table with a hole in the middle of it, and one were given a
penny to put into that hole from the edge of the table, how would one
endeavour to do it? There can be but little doubt one would try to
_roll_ the coin into the hole. Now that is the way one must try to
put. The ball must be rolled up to the hole. At first sight this seems
an entirely superfluous direction. The reader may say: "In what other
way may puts be sent into the hole than by rolling?" Practically,
there is no other way. It was the idea that there was another and a
better way of holing puts than by rolling them into the hole which
made James Braid in the old days such a bad putter, for in those days
James Braid putted with what is commonly called "drag." It is no
uncommon thing to hear men who play a very fine game of golf advise
players to "slide" their long puts up. Put in another way this simply
means--advice to play a long put with what is known as "drag."
[Illustration: PLATE III. HARRY VARDON
At the top of his swing, showing his weight mainly on the left
leg. This characteristic is very marked in Vardon's play.]
It is well known that at billiards one can hit very hard and direct
one's ball very well by playing with a large amount of drag, and
golfers have carried this notion on to the putting-green, but, it must
be admitted, in a very thoughtless manner. In billiards the ball is
very heavy in proportion to its size. It moves on a perfectly level
and practically smooth surface, the tip of the cue is soft and covered
with chalk, which gives a splendid grip on the ball, and the blow is
delivered very far below the centre of the ball's mass, and is
concentrated on a particular point. In golf it is impracticable in
putting to get very much below the centre of the ball. It can be done,
of course, with a club which is sufficiently lofted, but the moment
this is done there is a tendency to make the ball leave the green,
which is not calculated to make for accuracy. Moreover, be it
remembered that the contact here is between two substances which
are not well calculated to enter into communion, namely, the
comparatively hard and shiny surface of a golf ball, and the hard and
frequently unmarked face of a putter. Moreover, the golf ball is
frequently marked with excrescences called brambles or pimples.
It is obvious that in many cases the first impact will be on one of
these pimples, and also in many cases certainly not in a line dead
down the centre of that bramble and in a line coinciding with the
intended line of run of the ball. When the impact takes place in this
manner it is obvious that, according to the simplest laws of
mechanics, the put must be started wrongly. It is also obvious that if
there is this tendency to go crookedly off the face of the club the
ball will have more opportunity of getting out of the track, which it
makes for itself in the turf, if it is lifted in any degree from the
turf by a lofted club.
It is apparent that a golf ball on a putting green sinks into the
turf. It is equally apparent that it will, on its way to the hole,
make for itself a track or furrow of approximately the same depth as
the depression in which it was resting when stationary. That furrow,
to a very great extent, holds the ball to its course and minimises
very much the faulty marking of a great many of the golf balls of
to-day, so that it will be seen that the object of the player should
be not in any way whatever to lift his ball from the green in the put,
which is the invariable and inevitable tendency of attempting to put
with drag by means of a lofted club. It is an extremely common error
to suppose that a put played with drag hugs the green more than one
played in the ordinary way, or with top. As a matter of
incontrovertible fact, no put hugs the green more than a topped put.
It would be easy enough to demonstrate this were it necessary to do
so, but it is a matter which comes in more in the dynamics of golf,
and possibly I shall have the space to treat of it further there. We
may, for our immediate purpose, content ourselves with the fact that
James Braid has abandoned putting with drag, and now rolls his ball up
to the hole with, if anything, a little top, although, be it clearly
understood, there is no apparent intention on his part to obtain this
top, nor does he in _Advanced Golf_ advocate that any attempt should
be made to obtain top; but there can be no doubt whatever that the
manner in which he plays his put tends to impart a certain amount of
top to the ball, and this, of course, causes it to run very freely.
Now with regard to putting drag on a long put, it should be obvious to
any one that, considering the roughness of the green, the extreme
roughness of the ball and its comparatively light weight in proportion
to its size, it would be impossible to make that ball retain any
considerable measure of back-spin over any appreciable distance of the
green. The idea is so repugnant to common sense and practical golf
that it has always been a matter of astonishment to me to think that
it could have prevailed so much as it has. However, there can be no
doubt that putting under this utterly wrong impression has done a very
great amount of harm to the game of players who might otherwise have
been many strokes better. Let our golfer understand that there is one
way, and one way only, in practical golf to put the ball, and that is
to roll it up to the hole.
There is generally an exception to prove the rule, and if I can find
an exception to this rule, it must be when one is trying to bolt short
puts. Practically every one has experienced the difficulty of holing
short puts, especially when the green is extremely keen. It is here
that the delicacy of the stroke allows the ball and the inequalities
thereof and any obstructions on the turf to exercise their fullest
power to deflect the ball from the line to the hole. James Braid, in
these circumstances, advises bolting one's puts. Needless to say, he
explains that one should put dead for the middle of the hole, and by
bolting, of course, is meant that one should put firmly so as to give
the ball sufficient strength of run to overcome its inequalities or
those of the turf.
This, unquestionably, is good advice; but if one puts at the hole in
this manner and does not get it cleanly enough to sink into the tin at
once, the ball with top will run round the edge of the tin and remain
on the green. This is the only case in golf that I can call to mind
where there is any use in putting drag on a put, and the reason for
this is that the distance from the ball to the hole and the nature of
the green is such that the ball is able to retain a very considerable
portion of its backward spin, and upon contact with the rim of the
hole, instead of having a forward run on it which enables it to hold
up and so get away from the hole, the back-spin gets a grip on the
edge of the hole and the ball falls in.
So far as I can remember, this is absolutely the only case in which
drag of any sort may be considered useful in a put. When I say drag of
any sort I am not, of course, referring to cutting round a put, or
negotiating a stymie with back-spin, for neither of these strokes
comes within the scope of my remark.
Having arrived at a decision as to the best method of sending the ball
on its journey to the hole, we have now to consider a point of supreme
importance in golf, and one which is not sufficiently insisted upon
by instructors. This is, that at the moment of impact the face of the
putter shall form a true right angle with the line of run to the hole.
That is the fundamental point in connection with putting; but it is of
almost equal importance that the right angle shall be preserved for as
long a time as possible in the swing back, and also in the
follow-through--in other words, the head of the putter should be in
the line of run to the hole as long as possible both before and after
the stroke. With this extremely simple rule, and it will be apparent
that this can be just as well learned in an arm-chair as anywhere
else, almost anyone could put well.
There is another point of outstanding importance. I have said that the
head of the putter should form a right angle to the line of run to the
hole. I shall be more emphatic still. Let us consider the line of run
to the hole as the upright portion of a very long letter T laid on the
ground. The top of the letter T will then be formed by the front edge
of the sole of the putter, so that it will be seen that not only does
the putter face form a dead right angle to the line of run to the
hole, but that the line of run to the hole hits the putter face dead
in the centre. For all ordinary putting, that is the one and only way
to proceed. One reads in various books about putting off the heel,
putting off the toe, and putting with drag. This is, comparatively
speaking, all imbecility and theory. There is no way to put in golf
comparable with the put that goes off the centre of the club's face.
If we may treat the face of the putter as a rectangle, bisect it by a
vertical line and also by a horizontal line, the point where these two
lines cross each other will be the portion of the putter which should
come into contact with the ball.
These are extremely elementary matters; but it is impossible,
although they are so elementary, to exaggerate their importance, and
it is amazing, considering their simplicity, how much neglected they
are in all books of instruction, and, generally speaking, by all
instructors. For instance, James Braid, at page 149, tells us:
Hitting the ball truly is simply a question of bringing the
putter on to it when making the stroke to exactly the same
point as when the final address was made, and of swinging the
putter through from the back swing to the finish in a
straight line.
This statement would be correct if the address had been made correctly
in the first instance, but unless one has it in one's mind to make
one's putter the top of the T--that is, the completion of the right
angle to the line of run to the hole--the chances are that one's
original address was wrong. Then it will be clearly seen that it is
not "simply a question of bringing the putter on to it when making the
stroke to exactly the same point as when the final address was made."
The important point is to see that the final address is correctly
made; but in no book which I have read--and I have read practically
every book on golf which deserves to be read--do I find any simple and
explicit directions for the mechanical portion of the put, which, as
James Braid truly observes, is extremely simple.
Now for the idea of the stroke: The player will, of course, have
learned his grip from some of the books on golf, or from a
professional. He will in all probability have adopted the overlapping
grip, for that grip tends, more than any other, to bring both wrists
into action together; and there can, I think, be little doubt that for
most people it is the better grip. Having obtained a good general idea
of the simple mechanical operations involved in the contact of the
club with the ball, the player now has to consider how that club
moves where it is, if we may so express it, bound to him. Well, if he
has even a rudimentary idea of mechanics, he will know that if he
wishes to swing that club so that it may hit the ball in an exactly
similar manner every time, he should suspend it on a single bearing,
so that it would swing in a similar manner to the pendulum of a clock.
The perfect put, from a mechanical point of view, is made by a motion
which is equivalent to the swinging of a pendulum. If, instead of
allowing the weight of the pendulum to be, as it generally is, in the
plane of the swing, it were turned round so that the flat side faced
towards the sides of the clock, we should have a rough mechanical
presentment of the golf club in the act of making a put. This is, of
course, a counsel of absolute perfection. It is an impossibility to
the golfer, both on account of his physical and physiological
imperfections, and on account of the fact that the golfer practically
never puts with an upright putter.
We are frequently told that a put is the only true wrist stroke in
golf. As a matter of fact there is no true wrist stroke in golf, for
it is evident that if one played the put as a true wrist stroke with a
club whose lie is at a considerable angle to the horizontal, the
centre of the circle formed by the club head will be away from the
ball to such an extent that the instant the club head leaves the ball
it must leave the line of run to the hole, and equally as certainly
will it leave the line of run to the hole immediately after it has
struck the ball.
Now this is not what we require, so it has come to pass that the put
at golf is to a very great extent a compromise. It must, above
everything, be a deliberate stroke with a clean follow-through. There
must be no suggestion of reducing the put to a muscular effort. The
idea of the pendulum must be preserved as much as possible, and the
strength of the put regulated to a very great extent by the length of
one's backward swing.
It is of the first importance that the body should be kept still
during the process of putting, and it stands to reason that the wrists
must also be kept as much as possible in the same place. If one finds
that one has a marked tendency to sway or to move the body about,
standing with one's feet close together will frequently correct this.
I have referred to the fact that the put is not a wrist stroke. As a
matter of fact, the wrists must in all good putting "go out after the
ball." By this is meant that at the moment of impact the wrists must
in the follow-through travel in a line parallel with the line of run
to the hole, and they must finish so that the club head is able, at
the finish, to stay over the line of run to the hole. To do this, it
is obvious that the wrists, after impact, must move forward. No true
follow-through in the put can be obtained from stationary wrists. This
may sound a little complicated. As a matter of fact it is nothing of
the sort, and the action is very simple, very natural, and when
properly played the ball goes very sweetly off the club and with
splendid direction.
There is one good general rule for regulating the distance which one
should stand from the ball in putting. When one addresses one's ball,
one should be in such a position that the ball is right underneath
one's eyes. To put it so that there can be no possible mistake as to
what I mean, I may say that in most cases the eyes, the ball, and the
hole should form a triangle in a plane at a right angle to the
horizon. Now I know how hard it is for some people to follow a remark
which refers to planes and right angles and horizons, so as this is a
matter of extreme importance, and a matter where many beginners go
absolutely wrong, I shall make it so plain that there is no
possibility of misunderstanding what I mean.
Let us imagine a large, irregularly shaped triangle with the apex at
the hole. We shall suppose, for the sake of argument, that this
triangle is composed of cardboard, that it is a right-angled triangle,
and that its base is 4' 6" wide. This triangle, then, is laid on the
green so that its base is vertical, and the corner which is remote
from the hole represents the ball, the upper corner of the base being,
of course, the player's eyes.
I believe this to be a matter of very great importance, for here it
will be seen that we have the eyes, the ball, and the hole all in the
same plane. Some people like putting with very upright putters. For
the purpose of experiment I had a perfectly upright putter made, but
upright putters are, I think, open to this objection--one's body hangs
too far over them, so that at the moment of striking the ball one is
looking inwards towards the ball, for one's head projects beyond the
line of run to the hole for a considerable distance. It will thus be
seen that one is looking down one line to the hole, and putting over
another. Needless to say, this cannot be good for direction. The eye,
the ball, and the hole should undoubtedly be in the same plane, and
that plane at right angles to the horizon.
As regards the position of the ball in relation to the feet there is
some slight difference of opinion, but generally it may be said that
about midway between the feet is the best position. If anything, the
ball should perhaps be a little nearer to the left foot than to the
right, but this is a matter upon which we cannot lay down any hard and
fast rule. The main point for the player to consider will be how he
can best secure the mechanical results which I have stated as being
the fundamental requisites of good putting. The matter of an inch or
two in his stance, nearer the hole or farther from it, is not of very
great importance compared with this. Some players have an idea that
they can secure a better run on their ball when putting by turning
over their wrists at the moment of impact. This is one of the most
dangerous fallacies which it is possible to conceive. The idea is
absolutely and fundamentally erroneous.
If one desires to put any run on one's ball more than is obtained by
the method of striking it which I have stated, it is always open to
one to play the put a little after the club has reached the lowest
point in its swing,--that is to say, as the putter is ascending, but
this is practically unnecessary. If one requires a little more run on
the ball it is best obtained by making the stroke a little stronger.
Any attempt whatever to do anything by altering the angle of the face
of the club during impact is utterly beyond the realm of practical
golf.
There are many refinements in the art of putting which go somewhat
beyond the fundamental principles laid down in this chapter, in that
they call for cut of a particular kind; but for about ninety-five per
cent of the puts which one has to play, practically nothing more need
be known by the golfer than is here set out.
I am not here going to describe the method in which one cuts round a
stymie, for I have done that very fully elsewhere; and, moreover, this
does not so completely come within the scope of this work, for it
enters much more into the region of practical stroke play than do the
matters which I have treated of and which I intend to treat of in this
book.
There is, however, one stroke which is played on the putting-green,
yet is not truly, of course, a put. It is a stroke which I myself
introduced into the game several years ago. This is the stroke which
is now known as the Vaile Stymie Stroke. It is unique among golf
strokes in that it is not an arc. Every known golf stroke before I
introduced this stroke into the game was an arc of a more or less
irregular shape, but it was an arc. The essence of my stroke is that
it is produced in practically a straight line. For all ordinary
stymies it is without doubt the most delicate and accurate stroke
which can possibly be played, and the manner of playing it, after a
golfer has once conquered the force of habit which tends to make him
raise his club from the earth immediately he leaves his ball, is very
simple. The mashie is drawn back from the ball in a perfectly straight
line, and with the sole of it practically brushing, or no more than
just clearing the green. It is then moved sharply forward, but instead
of coming up with the ball after it has hit it, it passes clean
forward down the intended line of flight in a perfectly horizontal
line, provided always, of course, that the green is level, so that it
finishes some inches down the line to the hole and practically
touching the green. No attempt must be made to strike the ball or to
take turf. The idea in one's mind should be to divide the ball from
the green with the front edge of the sole.
Many mashies are not suitable for this shot, because the sole is not
cut away enough on the back edge, as indeed the sole of every mashie
should be; so it will frequently be found that the best club for
negotiating stymies is the niblick, for its sole being cut away so
much enables the front edge of the club to get well in underneath the
ball. This is a matter of the very greatest importance in playing
stymies, for the simple reason that it enables the player to put so
much more of his force into elevation than is possible when the front
edge of his mashie is cocked up, as it frequently is, by the breadth
of the sole of the mashie; for in many cases when one is trying to
play a stymie the rear edge of the sole of the club makes contact with
the green first and tilts up the front edge, so that it is at least a
quarter of an inch higher than it should be, and instead of striking
the ball almost at the point where it is resting on the turf, it gets
it fully a quarter of an inch to half an inch higher up. The
consequence of this is that too much of the force of the blow goes
into propulsion instead of elevation.
This means that if the stymie is close to the hole and there is only a
very short run after the ball has got over the obstacle, the player
invariably finds that with his imperfectly constructed mashie he
cannot put enough stop on the ball, nor play the shot delicately
enough to give it a chance to get into the hole, because the run is in
many cases far too strong. Every golfer who desires to play a stymie
well should see to it that he has a mashie with a very fine front
edge, and that the sole is not flat in any part, but begins to curve
away immediately it leaves the front edge. With the mashie constructed
on these lines all ordinary stymies absolutely lose their terror if
the shot is played as described.
The delicacy and accuracy of this stroke are remarkable. The direction
is an astonishing illustration of the importance of the rule for
putting which I have laid down, of keeping the front edge of the
putter at a right angle to the line of run to the hole, both before
and after impact. As the whole essence of playing this stymie stroke
correctly consists of the straight movement of the face of the club
sharply down the intended line of flight and run to the hole, the
wrists have naturally to follow the head of the club in a line
parallel with that made by the head of the club, and so accurate is
the result that in any ordinary stymie if a wire were stuck on the top
of the intervening ball, I would guarantee to hit the wire every time.
This stroke was a revelation to me of the importance of the principles
which I am now enunciating, although, of course, I was well aware of
their soundness before I discovered this stroke.
The usefulness of this stroke is not confined merely to playing
stymies, but it makes a magnificent and accurate chip shot; or if one
has a bad portion of green to put over one can, with this stroke, rely
upon going as straight through the air as one can in the ordinary
course over the green.
Lest anyone should think that this is merely a theoretical stroke, let
me tell how I came to introduce it into the game of golf. I had used
the stroke myself for some time. One afternoon I was in the shop of
George Duncan, the famous young Hanger Hill professional. It was
raining heavily, and to pass the time I was knocking a ball about on
the mat. Presently I set up a stymie and said to Duncan:
"Show me how you play your stymie, George."
"Oh, just in the usual way," said Duncan.
"Well, show me," I said.
Duncan took his mashie and played the stymie shot perfectly, "just in
the usual way."
"There is a much better way of playing a stymie than that," I said,
and I set up the shot and showed Duncan how I played it by my method.
Very few people can give George Duncan any points with the mashie. He
got hold of the stroke at once, and he would hardly wait for the rain
to stop before he went out on to the green to try it there. He plays
the shot perfectly now, and maintains, as indeed I show in _Modern
Golf_, that there is no stymie stroke to compare with it, and of that
I have myself absolutely no doubt. In fact, so accurate is the stroke
that if I found myself badly off my game with my putter, I should take
my mashie and play this stroke, for as regards the fundamental
principle of putting it is a wealth of instruction in itself.
Cutting round a stymie is nearly always included in the chapter on
putting, but it is practically always a mashie stroke, and in the
majority of cases is a very short pitch with a large amount of cut. On
account of the loft of the mashie the club gets well in underneath the
ball, and as the head of the club at the moment of impact is
travelling in a line which runs at a fairly sharp angle across the
intended line of flight and run of the ball it imparts a strong _side
roll_ to the ball. The cut on a golf ball in such a stroke as I am now
describing resembles almost exactly the off-break spin in cricket.
This means that the ball has a strong side-spin, so that the moment it
hits the earth it endeavours to roll sideways, but the force of
propulsion fights this tendency, and the resulting compromise is a
curve which enables the ball to get round the intervening obstacle,
and, if the stroke is well executed, to find the hole.
Almost all golf books instruct the player wrongly about this stroke.
He is told to draw his hands in towards him at the moment of impact,
and in some cases, even where the author calls his book _Practical
Golf_, he is told to draw his hands in after impact. Both of these
instructions are utterly wrong. There must be no conscious drawing in
of the hands at the moment when one is trying to cut a put. All the
cut must be done by the natural swing of the club across the intended
line of run of the ball: in other words, the cut is a continuous
process from the time that the club begins its swing until the time
that it ends it. The fact that the ball is in the way of the face of
the club as it crosses the intended line of run to the hole may be
said to be merely an incident in the passage of the club head. Any
attempt whatever to interfere with the natural swing of the club or to
juggle with the ball during impact, or, more futile still, after
impact, must result in irretrievably ruining the stroke.
The stymie shot which I have described will also be found of use a
little farther from the green, and by means of it an excellent run-up
shot, with most accurate direction, can be played. There is another
way of negotiating a stymie which I have never seen described. It is
pulling round a stymie. It will be obvious to any one acquainted with
the game that cutting round a stymie is merely another form of slice;
although of course the run of the ball is obtained in a different
manner from the curve of the slice in the air, yet the method of
production of the stroke is practically similar. So is it with pulling
a put. There is no doubt that this can be done; but I think there is
also no doubt that it is the most difficult method of negotiating a
stymie which there is. The stroke is played, to all intents and
purposes, as is the pulled drive. Some people imagine that it may be
obtained by turning over the wrist at the moment of impact. This is
quite an error, and is absolutely destructive of accuracy. As, in the
cut put, the head of the club is travelling from outside the line
across it, towards the player's side of the line at the moment of
impact, so, in the pull, the head of the club must be travelling from
the player's side of the line across and away to the far side of the
line at the moment of impact. That is the secret of the pull either in
the drive or the put.
I cannot refrain from quoting Vardon again. He says on page 148:
There should be no sharp hit and no jerk in the swing, which
should have the even gentle motion of a pendulum. In the
backward swing, the length of which, as in all other strokes
in golf, is regulated by the distance it is desired to make
the ball travel, the head of the putter should be kept
exactly in the line of the putt. Accuracy will be impossible
if it is brought round at all. There should be a short
follow-through after impact, varying, of course, according to
the length of the putt. In the case of a long one, the club
will go through much further, and then the arms would
naturally be more extended.
This is wisdom as regards the put. There can be no doubt whatever
about this being practical golf of the highest order, but Vardon
rather spoils it by the following sentence in which he says, "In the
follow-through the putter should be kept well down, the bottom edge
scraping the edge of the grass for some inches."
Now, if that means anything at all, it means that although Vardon's
conception of the put and its execution in many ways is excellent, yet
he has been making for years the error which made James Braid a bad
putter--in other words, he has been putting with drag. It is well
known that for a very long time Vardon's weakness was his putting; and
I firmly believe that the secret of his bad putting was this low
follow-through with his put. I think that Vardon's follow-through in
his put is now not so low as it was, and the consequence is that his
putting has improved.
Vardon continues:
It is easy to understand how much more this course of
procedure will tend towards the accuracy and delicacy of the
stroke than the reverse method, in which the blade of the
putter would be cocked up as soon as the ball had left it.
What is more natural, then, than that the blade of the putter should
be cocked up immediately after the ball has left it? That is exactly
what should happen in the perfectly played put. Vardon has already
told us that the put is to be played with the "even gentle motion of a
pendulum." Let us suppose for a moment that it was the weight of the
pendulum turned side-wise which had struck the golf ball. It stands to
reason that immediately the weight, which in this case answers to the
face of the golf club, has struck the ball and sent it on its way to
the hole, the face begins to "be cocked up."
Vardon here makes a totally erroneous claim. He claims greater
delicacy and accuracy for the put played with drag as against that
played as Braid now plays his puts. There can be no shadow of doubt
that the put played with drag, or with a low follow-through "scraping
the top of the grass for some inches," partakes much more of the
nature of a tap than does the put which is played with top or a
perfectly horizontal blow. If Vardon has not completely realised this,
as I think he has, he will, ere long, do so, as James Braid already
has done.
I need not here deal with complicated puts; that is to say, puts of
such a nature that one has to traverse one, two, or more slopes on
the way to the hole. These puts do not, in themselves, contain any of
the fundamental principles of golf. Each one stands entirely by
itself, and these are absolutely matters in which nothing but practice
on the green can be of any use. It will be obvious to any schoolboy
that if he has to run across five little hills on his way to the hole,
and that three of these slant one way and two the other; and if we say
for the sake of example that they are all practically equal in their
width and slope, that it will be a case of four of them cancelling out
on the good old plus and minus system of our schoolboy days, and we
shall then be left practically to calculate how much we will have to
allow for putting across the incline of one slope. This is not a case
which I should think of giving myself. I merely give it because I came
across such an illustration given in a book which is supposed to cater
for those who desire the higher knowledge of golf, but as a matter of
practical golf these situations but seldom occur.
Allowing for the drop in a green when one is putting across the slope,
requires a lot of practice, and is most absolutely and emphatically
not a thing that can be learned in an arm-chair, or in any golf
school. It must be learned on the green itself.
Although James Braid has remodelled his putting with such success, he
still, to a certain extent, clings to his own idea of putting with
drag. On page 154 of _Advanced Golf_ he says:
For general use I am a strong believer in a putter having
just a little loft. I know that some players like one with a
perfectly straight face which does not impart the slightest
drag to the ball, their theory being that such putters are
capable of more delicate work than others, and that the ball
answers more readily to the most delicate tap from them.
There may be considerable truth in this, though, obviously,
great skill and confidence on the part of the player are
taken for granted.
And again he says:
The strength of long putts can generally be more accurately
regulated with a lofted putter than with a straight-faced
one.
He continues:
This is the kind of putter that I might recommend for what
might be called a medium or average green, if there can be
said to be such a thing; but I wish to point out that the
putter that is the best suited to such a green is not so well
suited to either a very fast green or a very slow one, and
that in each of the latter cases the club best adapted to the
circumstances is one with considerably more loft on it.
On page 56 he says:
Now in both these cases, when the greens are very slow and
when they are extremely fast, the best putter for them is one
with very considerable loft on the face, and it will often be
found that there is nothing better than a fairly
straight-faced iron, or an ordinary cleek, if it is big
enough in the face to suit the player. With this club and its
great dragging power, the effect seems to be practically to
reduce the distance between the ball and the hole. Such is
the drag that the ball is simply pushed over a considerable
part of the way, and it is only when it is quite near to the
hole that it begins, as it were, to run in the usual way. The
fact is that for the first part of the journey the ball does
not revolve regularly upon its axis, as it does when
approaching the hole, but simply skates over the turf, and it
will be found that with a little practice the point at which
it will stop skating can be determined with very considerable
exactness. When it does so stop there is still so much drag
on it that it is very quickly brought to a standstill. Thus
in both cases, of the very fast and the very slow green, the
ball can be played without fear right up to the hole when the
putter is so well lofted as I have recommended.
Here we are told that the ball "simply skates over the turf." As I
have shown before, this is one of the greatest fallacies in golf. It
is impossible to obtain any results by drag in a long put, which are
not better obtained by simply rolling the ball up. Braid says that
"with a little practice the point at which it will stop skating can be
determined with very considerable exactness," and he goes on to say
that "when it does so stop there is still so much drag on it that it
is very quickly brought to a standstill."
This is obviously nonsense. It is the drag on the ball which makes it
do any skating which may take place. It is obvious that when the
skating has ceased the drag has stopped exerting its influence. How,
then, is it going to stop the ball from rolling in a natural manner?
We see here the mistake of importing into golf the well-known
phenomena of billiards, but one would have thought that the experience
of the billiard-table would have been sufficient to show the fallacy
of this statement. The billiard player uses drag to enable him to play
his ball fast and accurately, and there is no doubt that by means of
this drag he does obtain very considerable accuracy, but directly the
ball has ceased to "skate" he knows that that is the time when the
drag has entirely departed from it, and that the momentum has
conquered the friction caused by the back-spin; in other words, the
drag having accomplished its work has gone out of business, and all
the run that is on the ball is derived from the remains of the
momentum imparted to it.
I cannot say too emphatically that in my opinion this idea of putting
with drag, or with any club having a loft more than that which barely
enables one to see the face of it when it is properly soled, is
dangerous and calculated to produce bad putting on the part of anyone
who attempts it, even as it did in the case of James Braid himself.
There is one remark which James Braid makes about stymies which I
should like to refer to here. Braid says: "Given complete confidence,
the successful negotiation of a stymie is a much less difficult matter
than it is imagined to be, though in the nature of things it can never
be very easy." I must say that I differ entirely from Braid in this
respect. I maintain that in the nature of things most ordinary
stymies, when played in the manner which I advocate, are very easy.
The difficulty of the stymie, provided one's club is properly
built--and later on I shall refer to the construction of the
mashie--is much exaggerated. Eight of ten stymies should present no
more difficulty than an ordinary put. The only time a stymie should
present a difficulty to the golfer is when the intervening ball is
much nearer to the hole than to the ball which is stymied, so that the
force required to get over the obstacle is so much that the player,
after landing on the far side of the stymie, has too much power in his
ball to give it a chance to settle in the hole, but even such a stymie
as this may, if the ground be suitable, be overcome by lofting one's
ball so as to drop on the hither side of the stymie, bound over it on
its first bound, and continue on its way to the hole. This, probably,
is one of the most difficult ways of negotiating a stymie; but as
showing that it is eminently a matter of practical golf, I may say
that I was illustrating the shot one day to a man who had practically
just started golf. I showed him how to obtain the shot, and he did it
at his first attempt. I advised him not to try again that day.
Braid continues:
I need not say that the pitching method is only
practicable--and then it is generally the only shot that is
practicable--when both balls are near the hole, and are so
situated in relation to each other and to the hole that the
ball can reach the latter as the result of such a stroke as
enabled it to clear the opponent's ball.
Braid is, I think, referring to a clean pitch into the hole, although
the photograph leaves this open to doubt. The pitching method is
practicable when one is stymied in almost any position on the green,
provided always, as I have said, that one has any chance whatever of
pulling up in time to get into the hole after having got over the
stymie. Let me give an example:--Supposing my ball were fifteen yards
from the hole, that the green was absolutely level, and that I had a
stymie ten inches or ten feet in front of me. I should not hesitate
for a moment to use the shot which I have described as the best stymie
stroke in the game. The ball in front of me, so far from being an
obstruction, or in any way whatever putting me off, would, if
anything, serve as a good line to the hole. I am aware that to many
golfers who do not know this stroke, and comparatively few do, this
will sound like exaggeration. I am prepared at any time to demonstrate
the practical nature of what I am writing to any one of my readers who
cannot obtain the results which I get with this stroke.
At the time that I introduced this stroke there was much controversy
about it, and it was claimed that it was not a new stroke, but that it
was exactly the same as the stroke played by all golfers when stymied.
This, however, is quite an error. Speaking of the stymie shot, James
Braid says
... it is just an ordinary chip up, with a clean and quick
rise, the fact being remembered that the green must not be
damaged. To spare the latter the swing back should be low
down and near to the surface, which will check the tendency
to dig. The thing that will ensure the success of the shot,
so far as the quick and clean rise is concerned--and often
enough success depends entirely upon that--is the
follow-through. Generally, if the club is taken through
easily and cleanly, all will be well.
It is obvious from this description that the stroke in Braid's mind is
totally different from my stymie stroke. With the stroke as I play it,
it is an absolute impossibility to "dig" into the green. One has no
need to have any anxiety whatever about the green, for as the club
travels parallel with the surface of the green all the time, it is
obvious that no damage can ensue. If there is any deflection whatever
from the straight line, it would be at the moment of impact, but even
here it stands to reason that there is practically no deflection
whatever; for even in a stroke played, relatively speaking, so slowly
as is this shot, any alteration of the line of the stroke after it has
once been decided upon, is quite improbable, but the dominant idea in
the player's mind must be to insert the front edge of his mashie
between the ball and the grass, and above everything to keep his
follow-through as straight and as low along the surface of the green
as was his swing back. It is this straight and low follow-through
which gives the ball its "quick and clean rise," as Braid calls it.
Curiously enough, the follow-through which Braid shows for his stymie
shot, wherein the head of the club is raised from the green, will not
give anything like so quick a rise or such delicacy of touch as will
the stroke played in the manner which I have described, and, above
everything, with the very low follow-through insisted upon by me.
[Illustration: PLATE IV. HARRY VARDON
At the top of his swing in the drive. This is a fine
illustration of Vardon's perfect management of his weight,
which is mainly on his left foot. Observe carefully the
wrists, which are in the best possible position to develop
power.]
I may mention that George Duncan never uses any other stroke than this
when playing a short stymie. Indeed, he went so far as to say, when I
was having him photographed for my illustrations in _Modern Golf_,
that it was useless to take any exposures of the ordinary stymie shot,
for the stroke introduced and described by me had practically put it
out of the game.
Speaking of cutting round a stymie, James Braid says: "Whichever way I
wish to make the ball curl, either round the other ball from the
left-hand side, or from the right, I hit my own with the toe of the
club, drawing the club towards me in the former case so as to make a
slice, and holding the face of it at an angle--toe nearer the hole
than the heel--in the latter, in order to produce a hook." And he
adds: "You cannot do anything by hitting the ball with the heel of
your putter," to which I would rejoin, nor can you do anything by
hitting the ball with the toe of your putter, that you cannot do
better by hitting it absolutely in the middle, which is the only
proper part wherewith to hit a golf ball.
In the illustrations Braid is shown cutting the put with an aluminium
club. One has no more chance of cutting round a stymie with a club of
this nature than one would have with a bar of soap, for the simple
reason that on account of the breadth of its sole--for if it be not an
aluminium club, it is at least shaped on the same lines--it is
impossible to get the face of the club sufficiently underneath the
ball for the loft to get to work so as to impart that side roll which
is of the essence of cutting round. Braid says at page 171: "But
remember that you can never get any work on the ball if the green is
stiff." Now if this is so, I should like to know what use there is in
attempting to put with drag?
I quite agree with Braid that it is practically impossible to get any
work whatever on the ball with the club he is shown using. With such a
club it would be still more difficult, if not absolutely impossible,
to obtain any appreciable drag, but if, as Braid says, "you can never
get any work on the ball when the green is stiff," how can he advise
one to attempt to put with drag on a stiff green? To my mind this is
absolutely bad and misleading advice.
In my chapter on the "Construction of Clubs" it will be seen that I
advocate a short putter for short puts. In _Advanced Golf_ James Braid
has some interesting things to say about gripping low down. He says:
Many golfers grip very low down, even half-way between the
leather and the head. If their putting when done this way is
first class, nobody can say anything to them, but if it is
not first class it may be pointed out to them that the system
is absolutely bad. It may be allowed to pass for holing-out
purposes; but for a putt of any length it cannot be good, for
the club is not swung in the ordinary easy manner by which
distance can be so accurately gauged. The ball is more or
less poked along. When a man putts in this way he is putting
largely by instinct, and even though he may generally putt
well, his work on the greens cannot be thoroughly reliable.
No putting is so good and consistently effective as is that
which is done with a gentle even swing, which can be
regulated to a nicety, and such putting is only possible when
there is enough shaft left below the grip to swing with.
I am quite in accord with what James Braid says about this method of
putting, and I do not for one moment think that the short grip should
be used for approach puts, but I am sure the nearer one gets to the
hole the closer one should get down to the ball. Braid deals further
on with the question of shortening one's putter. He says:
As to the length of the shaft, many players, because they
find that they always grip their putters a foot or so from
the end of it, proceed in due course to have the best part of
that foot cut off, or in purchasing a new putter they have
the shaft cut very short. Are they quite satisfied that it is
not better to have a fair amount of shaft projecting up above
the place where they grip when that place is very low down?
The answer to this is that in many cases the wood which projects above
the grip is very much in the way of true putting. Any golfer who is
foolish enough to cut anything like a foot off any club without any
compensation to the head in the way of balance must be expected to pay
the penalty for his ignorance, and anyone having a club constructed
for him on such a principle, or, rather, want of principle, will
inevitably pay for it. Braid goes on to say:
Often enough no consideration is given to this point; it is
not imagined that the shaft above the grip can serve any
useful purpose. Yet it is constantly found that a putter cut
down is not the same putter as it was before, not so good,
and has not the same balance; and, again, many players must
have been surprised sometimes, when doing some half-serious
putting practice with a cleek, iron, or driving mashie, each
club with its long shaft, to find out what wonderfully
accurate work could be done in this way. The inference from
all experience, having theoretical principle to back it, is
that the top or spare part of the shaft acts as a kind of
balance when the putter is gripped low down, and tends
materially to a more delicate touch and to true hitting of
the ball. A very little reflection will lead the reader to
believe that this is so, and in some cases it may lead him
towards a revision of his present methods.
Personally, I should not think that even "a very little reflection"
would be necessary to induce anyone to believe that the top part of
the shaft acts "as a kind of balance" when the putter is gripped low
down, but it is quite obvious that it is possible to build a putter,
let us say, for the sake of example, two-thirds of the length of an
ordinary putter, which is just as perfectly balanced as the long
club. This is not any question of theory--it is a matter of absolutely
proved and tried practice in golf. One may have a perfect putter which
will be ruined by taking a few inches off the shaft. The balance of
that putter is probably irrevocably destroyed, unless, perchance, the
owner is lucky in adding weight to the head in some way, but dealing
with a putter like this is tricky work for one who does not understand
it. The main point in connection with this matter of Braid's, which I
have quoted, is that he gives a kind of qualified approval to the idea
of the short putter for short puts. Personally, I think it is the
soundest of sound golf, and I am inclined to think that before many
years we shall see the shorter clubs used in their proper place when
their value is more clearly understood.
Vardon has some very interesting things to say in his book, _The
Complete Golfer_, on "Complicated Putts," while dealing with what he
calls "one of the most difficult of all putts--that in which there is
a more or less pronounced slope from one side or the other, or a
mixture of the two." As he truly says, "In this case it would
obviously be fatal to putt straight at the hole." He continues: "I
have found that most beginners err in being afraid of allowing
sufficiently for the slope"; and I have found that nine champions of
ten make exactly the same error. It is as bad a fault at golf as it is
at bowls to be "narrow," by which, in golf, is meant not to allow
enough for the slope of the green, for it is obvious that if one is
narrow one does not give the hole a chance any more than one does when
one is short; so we may add to the stock maxim in putting "Never up,
never in," another one, which is just as sound, "Never be narrow."
Vardon goes fully into the general principles underlying these
complicated puts, but as I have already indicated, this is
unquestionably a matter which can only be settled by practice on the
green; but he also goes into the question of the manner in which the
stroke should be played, and here we have a subject which legitimately
comes within the scope of this work. He continues:
But there are times when a little artifice may be resorted
to, particularly in the matter of applying a little cut to
the ball. There is a good deal of billiards in putting, and
the cut stroke on the green is essentially one which the
billiard player will delight to practise, but I warn all
those who are not already expert at cutting with the putter
to make themselves masters of the stroke in private practice
before they attempt it in a match, because it is by no means
easy to acquire. The chief difficulty which the golf student
will encounter in attempting it will be to put the cut on as
he desires, and at the same time to play the ball with the
proper strength and keep on the proper line. It is easy
enough to cut the ball, but it is most difficult, at first at
all events, to cut it and putt it properly at the same time.
For the application of cut, turn the toe of the putter
slightly outwards and away from the hole, and see that the
face of the club is kept to this angle all the way through
the stroke. Swing just a trifle away from the straight line
outwards, and the moment you come back on to the ball draw
the club sharply across it. It is evident that this movement,
when properly executed, will give to the ball a rotary
motion, which on a perfectly level green would tend to make
it run slightly off to the right of the straight line along
which it was aimed.
There are one or two points in this statement which are of very great
importance. Vardon says: "For the application of cut turn the toe
slightly outwards and away from the hole, and see that the face of the
club is kept to this angle all the way through the stroke." This is
absolutely unsound golf, for Vardon is advising his reader to play the
put with the toe of the putter slightly outwards and away from the
hole. It stands to reason that following this advice will put the face
of the club in such a position that at the moment of impact it will be
impossible for it to be at a right angle to the intended line of run
to the hole, and this rule is, for all purposes of practical golf,
invariable. It is obvious that coming on to the ball in the manner
suggested must tend to push it away to the right--that is to say, it
would have a strong tendency to go away to the right from the very
moment of impact, which is not what is generally wanted in a good put;
also playing the put in this manner tends quite naturally to decrease
the amount of cut put on it. The idea that cut mashie shots and cut
puts are played in this manner has arisen from the fact that very
frequently the golfer addresses the ball with the toe of his club laid
back a little, but by the time he has come on to the ball again he has
corrected this. In many cases, if it were not for laying the toe of
the club back a little in this manner, golfers would be inclined,
although as a matter of strict and accurate golf they should not be,
to drag the ball across towards the left of the hole.
Vardon says: "Swing just a trifle away from the straight line
outwards, and the moment you come back on to the ball draw the club
sharply across it." Now here again we see this outstanding error of
practically every man who ever put pen to paper to write about golf,
which is that in producing the cut, whether it be in a put or a sliced
drive, something is done intentionally to the ball during the period
in which the ball and the club are in contact. This is absolutely
wrong. I have explained before that the cut put, and indeed all cut
strokes at golf, are produced by the club swinging across the intended
line of flight or run at the moment of impact, and the amount of cut
depends entirely upon the angle and the speed at which the club head
is travelling across the intended line of flight or run. It is obvious
that the amount of cut must also, to a certain extent, depend on the
amount of loft of the club, for the greater the loft of the club the
greater assistance will the golfer who is applying the cut obtain from
the weight of the ball.
Vardon goes on to say: "It is evident that this movement, when
properly executed, will give to the ball a rotary motion, which on a
perfectly level green would tend to make it run slightly off to the
right of the straight line along which it was aimed"; but as I have
already shown, the unfortunate part of it is that a put so played
would not go down the straight line which every golfer desires that
his put shall go on; nor indeed on anything like it.
Also it is a delusion that it is possible with any of the ordinary
putters to obtain a cut of a sufficiently pronounced degree to remain
on the ball, especially on the bramble balls, for any appreciable
distance. Vardon supposes a case of a steep but even slope all the way
from the ball to the hole, and he gives instructions as to how to put
across this slope with cut so as to hold the ball up against the
slope. He says:
But we may borrow from the slope in another way than by
running straight up it and straight down again. If we put cut
on the ball, it will of itself be fighting against the hill
the whole way, and though if the angle is at all pronounced
it may not be able to contend against it without any extra
borrow, much less will be required than in the case of the
simple putt up the hill and down again.
In the first place, I may remark that we do not generally borrow from
a slope "by running straight up it and straight down again." The path
of the ball is generally, almost from the time it is hit, a curve, and
a gradual curve, in which one sees to it that the ball is at its
farthest from the straight line to the hole somewhere about midway to
the hole. But this idea of putting cut on the ball with a putter,
which is sufficient to hold the ball up against the hill for any
appreciable distance, is practically a delusion. I can easily
understand that if Vardon plays the cut put as he himself directs it
to be played, that he thinks that cut administered to a ball by an
ordinary putter may have a very great effect in holding the ball up
against the side of a hill for a considerable distance, but this
really is not so. Putting, however, as Vardon instructs one to put for
obtaining cut, would in itself punch the ball up against the slope of
the hill, and I can easily believe that anybody who plays the put like
this, thinking that he is obtaining cut by so doing, will be under the
impression that cut is a very useful thing for holding the ball up
against the slope in this manner, whereas he is in effect simply
punching the ball up against the slope--in other words, he is playing
a put, which if the green were perfectly level, would be yards off his
line to the hole and to the right of it.
Vardon goes on to say:
Now it must be borne in mind that it is a purely artificial
force, as it were, that keeps the ball from running down the
slope, and as soon as the run on the ball is being exhausted
and the spin at the same time, the tendency will be, not for
the ball to run gradually down the slope--as it did in the
case of the simple putt without cut--but to surrender to it
completely and run almost straight down.
There is a fundamental error here, for Vardon states that practically
the spin on the put and the run on the ball will be exhausted at the
same time, but it is an utter impossibility to calculate with any
exactness whatever as to what happens in such a case. Vardon knows no
more about it than any other golfer, and all that any golfer knows
about this is extremely little, so that to advise anyone to attempt to
hold his ball up against a slope by the application of cut with any
ordinary putter, particularly a broad-soled putter, is to invite him
to play his shot blindfolded.
Vardon does not mention the length of the put which he considers it
possible to play with this cut, but in his diagram he shows a put
which would conceivably be quite a long put, let us say for the sake
of argument fifteen or sixteen feet, but the theory would be just as
bad if it were much less. He says:
Our plan of campaign is now indicated. Instead of going a
long way up the hill out of our straight line and having a
very vague idea of what is going to be the end of it all, we
will neutralise the end of the slope as far as possible by
using the cut and aim to a point much lower down the
hill--how much lower can only be determined with knowledge of
the particular circumstances, and after the golfer has
thoroughly practised the stroke and knows what he can do with
it. And instead of settling on a point half-way along the
line of the putt as the highest that the ball shall reach,
this summit of the ascent will now be very much nearer the
hole, quite close to it in fact. We putt up to this point
with all the spin we can get on the ball, and when it reaches
it, the forward motion and the rotation die away at the same
time, and the ball drops away down the hill, and, as we hope,
into the hole that is waiting for it close by.
Vardon may well say "as we hope," for the put described by him has no
more chance of being brought off on a putting-green than Vardon has of
winning another open championship from an aeroplane. To speak of
putting a ball in this manner, and treating it with such magic that
when it gets up by the hole the forward motion and the rotation die
away at the same time, is not practical golf, but absolute moonshine,
for it would be an utter impossibility to persuade any golf ball which
has ever been made to receive from any known form of golf club
sufficient cut to make it behave in the manner described. The theory
of the thing on paper is to a very great extent right, with the
exception that the cut described would require to be obtained by a
club with a much greater loft than any ordinary putter; but it is
evident that putting with putters such as those which Braid or Vardon
use, it would be an utter impossibility to get cut on the ball which
would stay with the ball during a long put and exert much influence in
holding the ball up against any appreciable slope, for with these
putters, which have not much loft, it is evident that any spin
whatever which is imparted to them by drawing the putter across the
line of run at the moment of impact will be mainly about a vertical
axis which is, in effect, the spin of a top. It is evident that as the
ball progresses across the green there will be a very strong effort
indeed on the part of the ball, following its friction on the green,
to wear down this vertical motion and convert it into the ordinary
roll of a naturally hit put.
Even when one is putting with a highly lofted club and with a
tremendous amount of drag on a perfectly flat green, the drag goes off
the ball in a wonderfully short space of time, and here, of course,
one is using a spin which is analogous to the drag of the billiard
player, for it is pure back-spin which is fighting in the same plane
the forward roll of the golf ball. Therefore it is reasonable to
suppose, and indeed it is undoubted that the ball would be more likely
to retain this pure back-spin for a much longer time than would the
ball with the side-spin imparted by the putter, for the spin which is
imparted by the putter does not directly fight the forward progress of
the ball as it is spinning across the plane of the roll which the ball
desires to take, whereas, as I have before pointed out, the ball
played with drag is absolutely fighting the forward roll of the golf
ball. It therefore would for a very short distance skid over the
putting-green, but those who only theorise about these matters have a
ridiculously exaggerated idea of the influence of drag on the golf
ball.
I have made it very plain, and I cannot emphasise the matter too
strongly, that any attempt whatever in long puts to use drag or cut of
any kind is to be deprecated.
There is another matter which Vardon refers to that I should like to
notice here. He says:
One of the problems which strike most fear into the heart of
the golfer is when his line from the ball to the hole runs
straight down a steep slope and there is some considerable
distance for the ball to travel along a fast green. The
difficulty in such a case is to preserve any control over the
ball after it has left the club, and to make it stop anywhere
near the hole if the green is really so fast and steep as
almost to impart motion of itself. In a case of this sort I
think it generally pays best to hit the ball very nearly upon
the toe of the putter, at the same time making a short, quick
twitch or draw of the club across the ball towards the feet.
Little forward motion will be imparted in this manner, but
there will be a tendency to half lift the ball from the green
at the beginning of its journey, and it will continue its way
to the hole with a lot of drag upon it. It is obvious that
this stroke, to be played properly, will need much practice
in the first place, and judgment afterwards, and I can do
little more than state the principle upon which it should be
made.
I need hardly do more here than repeat what I have said in the case of
the other puts. Any attempt to jump a ball at the beginning of the
put on a steep, fast green is about as bad a method of starting it as
one could possibly imagine. There is nothing for it but the smooth,
steady roll. Few greens, of course, are so steep that the ball will
run off them unless it has been very violently played, so the ordinary
principles of putting still hold good here--there is one way to play
that put, and that is not from the toe, but from the centre, of the
club, and as straight as may be for the hole, having due regard to the
slope or slopes of the green. Of course, as I have before indicated,
if one is very near to the hole, certainly not more than two to three
feet at the utmost, one may be excused for putting straight at the
hole with drag, because a ball can be made to carry its drag for about
this distance.
CHAPTER IV
THE FALLACIES OF GOLF
The fallacies of golf, as it has been written, are so numerous and so
grave that it would be impossible to deal with them fully in a
chapter, so I must here content myself with dealing generally with
them, and specifically with a few of the minor mistakes which are so
assiduously circulated by authors of works on golf. I shall take them
as they come, in their natural order. We shall thus have to deal with
them as follows: slow back, the distribution of weight, the sweep, the
power of the left hand and arm, the gradually increasing pace of the
sweep, the action of the wrists, and the follow-through.
We have then to consider, in the first place, the oft-repeated and
much-abused instruction to go "slow back." The rhythm of many a swing
is utterly spoilt by this advice, for the simple reason that,
generally speaking, it is tremendously overdone. Anyone who has ever
seen George Duncan's swing could surely be excused for thinking that
slow back must be a delusion. It is not, however, given to everybody
to be able to swing with the rapidity and accuracy which characterise
Duncan's wonderful drive. In fact, the most that can be said in favour
of going slowly back is that all that is necessary in the way of
slowness is that the player shall not take his club up to the top of
his swing at such a rate that in his recovery at the top of the swing
he will have any unnecessary force to overcome before he begins his
downward stroke.
It stands to reason that there must be at the top of the swing a
moment wherein the club is absolutely stationary. The whole object of
slow back is to ensure that at this moment, which is undoubtedly a
critical portion of the swing, there shall be no undue conflict of the
force which brought the club head up to the top of the swing and that
force which the golfer then exerts to start the club on its downward
journey. When this has been said, practically all that need be said
about slow back has been said.
It is almost a certainty that slow back, as one of what Vardon calls
the parrot cries of the links, has done more to unsettle the drives of
those who follow it, and the tempers of those who follow them, than
any other of the blindly followed fetiches of golf. Let it be
understood then, once and for all, that undue slowness is almost as
great a vice as undue quickness. What the player must, in every case,
strive after is the happy medium. It is an absolute impossibility to
preserve the rhythm of a swing that goes up with the painful slowness
and studied deliberation which we so frequently see as the precursor
of a tremendous foozle.
Incorporated in this overdone injunction, "slow back," we have the
idea of swinging the club away from the ball. In various places we are
told plainly that the club is not to be lifted away from the ball, but
that it must be swung back, whereas, of course, there can be no doubt
whatever that the club is lifted back, and is started on its journey
by the wrists.
It is obvious that no swing can be started from the lowest point in an
arc. If, for example, we take the pendulum of a clock which is
hanging motionless, it will be impossible to swing it one way or the
other without lifting it. Equally obvious is it that the golf club
must be lifted away from the ball.
"As you go up, so you come down" is another revered fallacy. We are
clearly, and probably rightly, instructed, when driving, to take the
club away from the ball in the line to the hole produced through the
ball.
We do this going back comparatively slowly until we are compelled to
leave the line, or rather the plane, of the ball's flight. So at the
moment of making our first divergence from the straight swing back, we
import into our arc a sudden and pronounced curve. On the return
journey, the downward swing, we travel all the way at express speed.
He would indeed be credulous and unanalytical who could believe that
the arc of the downward swing coincides with that of the upward, when
the upward swing is carried out according to the generally published
theory, which, of course, it generally is not. The theory is only good
in so far as it goes to inculcate the idea of remaining in the line to
the hole both before and after impact as long as possible.
The next fallacy which we have to deal with is the matter of the
distribution of weight in the drive. Practically every book that has
been published misinforms the golfer on this point, which is a matter
of fundamental importance in the game; in fact, it is of such great
importance that I shall not deal with it fully here, but shall reserve
it for my next chapter wherein I shall give the views of the leading
exponents of the game on this all-important subject, and shall then
show wherein I differ from them.
Let us consider that we have now arrived at the top of the swing.
Every author of a golf book insists upon the fact that the drive at
golf is a sweep and not a hit. James Braid, in chapter viii. of _How
to Play Golf_, writing of "The Downward Swing," says:
The chief thing to bear in mind is that there must be, in the
case of play with the driver and the brassie, no attempt to
_hit_ the ball, which must be simply swept from the tee and
carried forward in the even and rapid swing of the club. The
drive in golf differs from almost every other stroke in every
game in which the propulsion of a ball is the object. In the
ordinary sense of the word, implying a sudden and sharp
impact, it is not a "hit" when it is properly done.
The impact in the golf drive has been measured by one of our most
eminent physicists to occupy one ten-thousandth of a second. I think
we may take this as "implying a sudden and sharp impact." Braid goes
on to say, "when the ball is so 'hit' and the club stops very soon
afterwards, the result is that very little length, comparatively, will
be obtained, and that, moreover, there will be a very small amount of
control over the direction of the ball."
This might be right, but it seems almost unnecessary to point out that
when a ball has been struck at the amazing speed which such a brief
contact indicates, there is extremely little probability that the club
will stop "very soon afterwards"--in fact, it would be almost a matter
of impossibility to induce a club which had been used for delivering a
blow at the rate which this brief time indicates, to stop very shortly
afterwards. The head of a golf club at the moment of impact with the
golf ball is travelling so rapidly that a camera timed to take
photographs at the rate of one twelve-hundred-and-fiftieth of a
second's exposure, gets for the club head and shaft merely a vague
swish of light, while the ball itself, if it is caught at all, appears
merely to be a section of a sperm candle, so rapid is its motion. I
am speaking now of a photograph taken at this extremely rapid rate
when the photographer is facing the golfer who is making the stroke,
but so rapid is the departure of the ball from the club that even when
the photographer is standing in a straight line directly behind the
player, the ball still presents the appearance of a white bar.
It should then be sufficiently obvious to anyone that so far as
regards the stroke "implying a sudden and sharp impact," the golf
stroke, probably of all strokes played in athletics, is, at the moment
of impact, incomparably the most rapid. It has, therefore, always
seemed to me a matter for wonder to read that this stroke is a sweep
and not a hit.
Braid here says one thing which is of outstanding importance as
exploding another well-known fallacy. It is as follows:
While it is, of course, in the highest degree necessary that
the ball should be taken in exactly the right place on the
club and in the right manner, this will have to be done by
the proper regulation of all the other parts of the swing,
and any effort to direct the club on to it in a particular
manner just as the ball is being reached, cannot be attended
by success.
This is so important that I must pause here to emphasise it, because
we are frequently told, and even Braid himself, as I shall show later
on, has made the same mistake, that certain things are done during
impact, by the intention of the player during that brief period, in
order to influence the flight of the ball. There can be no greater
fallacy in golf than this. No human being is capable of thinking of
anything which he can do in this minute fraction of time, nor even if
he could think of what he wished to do, would it be possible for his
muscles to respond to the command issued by his mind.
To emphasise this, I must quote from the same book and the same page
again. Braid says:
If the ball is taken by the toe or heel of the club, or is
topped, or if the club gets too much under it, the remedy for
these faults is not to be found in a more deliberate
directing of the club on to the ball just as the two are
about to come into contact, but in the better and more exact
regulation of the swing the whole way through up to this
point.
That is the important part in connection with this statement of
Braid's. Many a person ruins a stroke, as, for instance, in
endeavouring to turn over the face of the putter during the moment of
impact, through following, in complete ignorance, the teaching of
those who should know better, and they then blame themselves for their
want of timing in trying to execute an impossibility, whereas the
remedy is, as Braid says, not in trying to do anything during the
moment of impact "but in the better and more exact regulation of the
swing the whole way through up to this point."
Braid is here speaking of the drive, but what applies to the drive
applies to every stroke in the game, with practically equal force. He
continues:
The object of these remarks is merely to emphasise again, in
the best place, that the despatching of the ball from the tee
by the driver, in the downward swing, is merely an incident
of the whole business.
"Merely an incident of the whole business." It is impossible to
emphasise this point too much. The speed of the drive at golf is so
great that the path of the club's head has been predetermined long
before it reaches the ball, so that, as I have frequently pointed out
in the same words which Braid uses in this book, the contact between
the head of the club and the ball may be looked upon as merely an
incident in the travel of the club in that arc which it describes.
The outstanding truth of this statement will be more apparent when we
come to deal with the master strokes of the game. Braid's remarks here
are so interesting that I must quote him again:
The player, in making the down movement, must not be so
particular to see while doing it that he hits the ball
properly, as that he makes the swing properly and finishes it
well, for--and this signifies the truth of what I have been
saying--the success of the drive is not only made by what has
gone before, but it is also due largely to the course taken
by the club after the ball has been hit.
In this paragraph Braid is making a fallacious statement. It will be
quite obvious to a very mean understanding that nothing which the club
does after it has hit the ball and sent it on its way, can have any
possible effect upon the ball, and, therefore, that the success of the
drive cannot possibly in any way be "due largely to the course taken
by the club after the ball has been hit." The success of the stroke
must, of course, be due entirely to the course taken by the club head
prior to and at the moment of impact. What Braid would mean to
express, no doubt, is that if the stroke has been perfectly played, it
is practically a certainty that what takes place after the ball has
gone, will be executed in good form.
I have frequently seen misguided players practising their
follow-through without swinging properly, whereas it is, of course,
obvious that a follow-through is of no earthly importance whatever
except as the natural result of a well-played stroke; and provided
that the first half of the stroke was properly produced, it is as
certain as anything can be that the second half will be almost
equally good, but it is certain that nothing which the club does after
contact with the ball has ceased can possibly influence the flight or
run of the ball. It is, for instance, obvious that if a man has played
a good straight drive clean down the middle of the fair-way, his
follow-through cannot be the follow-through of a slice, because the
pace at which he struck that ball must make his club head go out down
the line after the ball. Similarly, if a man has played a sliced
stroke, it stands to reason that after the ball had left his club, his
club head could not, by any possible stretch of imagination, follow
down a straight line to the hole.
These things are so obvious to anyone who is acquainted with the
simplest principles of mechanics that it is strange to see them stated
in the fallacious manner in which Braid puts them forth. Braid here
says:
The initiative in bringing down the club is taken by the left
wrist, and the club is then brought forward rapidly and with
an even acceleration of pace until the club head is about a
couple of feet from the ball.
Now here we see that Braid subscribes to the idea of "the even
acceleration of pace," but it will be remembered that in a previous
chapter I quoted him as saying that there must be no idea of gaining
speed gradually; that one must be "hard at it from the very top, and
the harder you start the greater will be the momentum of the club when
the ball is reached." Here there is no notion whatever of even
acceleration of pace. It is to get the most one can from the absolute
instant of starting, but notwithstanding this, Braid tells us on page
57 of _How to Play Golf_: "When the ball has been swept from the tee,
the arms should, to a certain extent, be flung out after it."
We observe here that Braid speaks of the ball as having been "swept
from the tee," notwithstanding that in _Advanced Golf_ at page 58 we
read: "But when he has got all his movements right, when his timing is
correct, and when he has absolute confidence that all is well, the
harder he _hits_, the better." I have italicised the word "hits."
Now here we have the practical golf of the drive, and I cannot do
better, in disposing of the fetich of the sweep, than re-echo Braid's
words that for a golfer who wants to get a good drive, when he has
everything else right, "the harder he hits the better."
As a matter of simple practical golf, provided always that a golfer
executes his stroke in good form, it is impossible for him to hit too
hard. This amazing fallacy of the sweep ruins innumerable drives, and
renders many a golfer, who would possibly otherwise play a decent
game, merely an object of ridicule to his more fortunate
fellow-players who know that the golf drive is a hit--a very palpable
hit--and not in any sense of the word a sweep.
Taylor also subscribes to the fetich of the sweep. At page 186 of
_Taylor on Golf_ he says:
In making a stroke in golf the beginner must feel sure that
the correct method of playing is not the making of a hit--as
such a performance is understood--but the effort of making a
sweep. This is an all-important thing, and unless a player
thoroughly understands that he must play in this style I
cannot say I think the chance of his ultimate success is a
very great one; it is an absolute necessity this sweep, and I
cannot lay too much stress upon it.
He continues:
As a more practical illustration of my meaning, I will
suppose that the player is preparing to drive. His position
is correct, he is at the exact distance from the ball. All
that is then necessary is that with a swinging stroke he
should sweep the ball off the tee. But, if in place of
accomplishing this sweep, the ball is _hit_ off the
tee--well, that may be a game, but it certainly does not come
under the heading of golf.
Now we have already seen that James Braid in _Advanced Golf_, which
was published after _How to Play Golf_, has abandoned the idea that
the golf drive is a sweep. Taylor is wonderfully emphatic about the
sweep, but I think it will not require much to convert any golfer, who
is in doubt about the matter, to my views, for the comparative results
obtained will speak for themselves. Moreover, if there is any one man
more than another who is a living refutation of the sweep notion that
man is J. H. Taylor. It is impossible to watch him driving, and to
know the power which he gets from his magnificent forearm _hit_,
without being absolutely convinced that the true nature of the golf
drive is a hit and not a sweep.
I do not find that Vardon subscribes to this idea of the sweep so
definitely as does Taylor, and as did Braid in _How to Play Golf_, but
he does unquestionably subscribe to the notion of the club gradually
gathering speed in its downward course, for he says at page 69 of _The
Complete Golfer_:
The club should gradually gain in speed from the moment of
the turn until it is in contact with the ball, so that at the
moment of impact its head is travelling at its fastest pace.
This, of course, in itself is correct, but there should be no
conscious effort of gradually increasing the pace. As Braid says, "one
must be 'hard at it' right from the beginning." The gradual and even
acceleration of pace must unquestionably be left to take care of
itself, and it has no more right to cumber the golfer's mind than has
the idea when he is throwing a stone that his hand should be moving at
its fastest when the stone leaves it.
[Illustration: PLATE V. J. H. TAYLOR
At the top of his swing in the drive. Note here the position
of Taylor's wrists. This is a matter of the utmost importance.
Taylor is at times inclined to get a little on to his right
leg, but probably here the weight is at least equally
distributed, if not mainly on the left.]
One of the most pronounced and harmful golfing fallacies is what I
call "the fetich of the left." All of the leading writers and players
do their best to instil into the minds of their pupils the idea that
the left hand is the more important. This is a fallacy of the most
pronounced and harmful nature, but it is of such great importance to
the game that I shall not deal with it particularly here, but shall
reserve it for a future chapter.
We now have to deal with the question of gradually increasing the pace
in the drive. I have already, to a certain extent, dealt with this
matter. Nearly all writers make a strong point of this fallacy. James
Braid at page 54 of _How to Play Golf_ says:
The initiative in bringing down the club is taken by the left
wrist, and the club is then brought forward rapidly, and with
an even acceleration of pace until the club head is about a
couple of feet from the ball.
Here it will be seen clearly that Braid gives the idea that the player
is, during the course of the downward swing, to exercise some
conscious regulation of the increase of the speed of the head of the
club.
Braid then goes on to say:
So far, the movement will largely have been an arm movement,
but at this point there should be some tightening-up of the
wrists, and the club will be gripped a little more tightly.
Anyone attempting to follow this advice is merely courting disaster.
To dream of altering the grip, or of consciously attempting in any way
to alter the character of the swing, or to introduce into the swing
any new element of grip, touch, control, or anything else whatever,
must be fatal to accuracy. Braid is much sounder on this matter in
_Advanced Golf_ where he makes no assertion of this nature, but tells
the golfer that he must not bother himself with any idea of gradually
increasing his pace.
This is what Braid says. It is worth repeating:
Nevertheless, when commencing the downward swing, do so in no
gentle, half-hearted manner, such as is often associated with
the idea of gaining speed gradually, which is what we are
told the club must do when coming down from the top on to the
ball. It is obvious that speed will be gained gradually since
the club could not possibly be started off on its quickest
rate. The longer the force applied to the down swing, the
greater do the speed and the momentum become, but this
gradual increase is independent of the golfer, and he should,
as far as possible, be unconscious of it. What he has to
concern himself with is not getting his speed gradually, but
getting as much of it as he possibly can right from the top.
No gentle starts, but hard at it from the very top, and the
harder you start the greater will be the momentum of the club
when the ball is reached.
That, I take it, is absolutely sound advice, for herein there is no
stupid restriction whatever, nor should there be, for the golfer, from
the time his club leaves the ball till it gets back to it, should have
nothing whatever wherewith to cumber his mind but the one idea, and
that is to _hit_ the ball. Braid is surely wide of the mark when he
says "but this gradual increase is independent of the golfer, and he
should, as far as possible, be unconscious of it."
Firstly, it seems to me that this gradual increase is entirely
dependent on the golfer, and secondly, that he should be extremely
conscious of it, and the necessity for the production of it; but this
is one of the many things in golf which, when once it is thoroughly
learned, becomes so much a matter of second nature that the golfer
does it instinctively. He knows perfectly well that he _will_
gradually increase his pace until he hits the ball, but he will not
have it in his mind that he _has_ to do so. All this is bound to be
in the hit. The man who drives the nail does not worry himself about
gradually increasing the pace of the hammer head until it encounters
the head of the nail. He knows he is doing it, but he does not worry
himself about it as the golfer does about his similar operation. If
the golfer would remember that nothing matters much except to hit the
ball hard and truly, and would disregard a lot of the absolute
nonsense about the domination of either one hand or the other, the
gradual acceleration of speed, and many other items of a similar
nature, he would find that his game would be infinitely improved.
I could quote pages from leading authors dwelling upon this matter of
the gradual increase of speed, but I shall content myself with the
passage which I have here quoted from James Braid, together with the
remarks that I have made in former portions of this book, and may make
in later chapters. Braid, in _Advanced Golf_, is sufficiently emphatic
about this matter, and I think we may take it that in _Advanced Golf_
he has given up the idea expressed in his smaller and less important
work _How to Play Golf_, that one should trouble oneself with the even
acceleration of speed. Whether he has or not, it is an absolute
certainty that any idea of consciously regulating the speed of the
club's head in the drive, will result in a very serious loss of
distance, for it will be found an utter impossibility for anyone so to
regulate the speed of the club without seriously detracting from the
rate at which the head is moving through the air, and as every golfer
knows, or should know, the essence of the golf stroke is, that the
club shall be travelling at the highest possible speed when it strikes
the ball. I am, of course, now speaking with regard to the drive, and
obtaining the greatest distance possible, for that is generally the
object of the drive.
The point which must be impressed upon the golfer is, that from the
moment he starts his downward swing until he hits the ball, he has
nothing whatever to think of except hitting that ball. Everything which
takes place from the top of the swing to the moment of impact should
practically be done naturally, instinctively, sub-consciously--any way
you like, except by the exercise of thought during that process as
especially applied to any particular portion of the action, for it is
proved beyond doubt that the human mind is not capable of thinking out
in rotation each portion of the golf drive as it should be played,
during the time in which it is being played.
Probably there is more ignorance about the action of the wrists in
golf than about any other portion of the golf stroke, yet this is a
matter of the utmost importance, a matter of such grave importance
that I must in due course deal with it more fully and examine the
statements of the leading writers on the subject.
It is laid down clearly and distinctly by nearly all golf writers and
teachers that the golfing swing must be rhythmical, that there must be
no jerking, no interruption of the even nature of the swing--in fact,
we have seen that according to many of them the stroke is a sweep and
not a hit, yet we are told distinctly that at the moment of impact a
snap of the wrists is introduced. This must tend, of course, to
introduce a tremendous amount of inaccuracy in the stroke at a most
critical time, and it is therefore a matter worthy of the closest
investigation.
We have already dealt with the fallacy of the sweep. It is a curious
thing that although the leading golfers and authors pin their faith to
the sweep as being the correct explanation of the drive in golf, yet
nearly all of them, when it comes to a question of the stroke with the
iron clubs, say that it is a hit. Now the stroke with the iron clubs
is identical with the stroke with the wooden clubs, with the
exception, of course, in many cases, that it has not gone back so far;
but the action of the wrists is, or should be, the same. The club head
travels, stroke for stroke, relatively in exactly the same arc; the
beginning of the stroke and finish of the stroke is the same, and all
the other laws, _mutatis mutandis_, apply. It would, indeed, be hardly
too much to say that there is at golf only one stroke, and that every
other stroke is a portion of that stroke, that stroke being, of
course, the drive. If we take the drive as the supreme stroke in golf,
and examine the nature of the stroke, we shall find that in that
stroke is included practically every stroke in the game. That being
so, it seems to me extremely hard to differentiate between a cleek
shot and a drive--in fact, in so far as regards the production of the
shot it is impossible to differentiate between them. If the one is a
hit, the other is, and as a matter of fact, every stroke in golf, with
the possible exception of the put, is a hit.
While we are speaking of hits and fallacies, it will not be out of
place to devote a little attention to a point of extreme importance,
and at the same time one which is very much neglected in most books
dealing with the game. It is the ambition of many a golfer to get what
he imagines to be "the true St. Andrews swing." They try this in
numberless cases, where, from the stiffness of their joints and their
build generally, it is impossible in the nature of things that they
can obtain a very full swing. It is bad enough in these cases, for I
speak now of people who have taken to the game when their frames have
become so set that it is practically an impossibility for them to
obtain anything in the nature of a full swing, but the attempt to
obtain a long swing is not, however, confined to those who have taken
to the game late in life, although it is with them naturally a greater
error than it is with those who started the game when their limbs were
more supple and their frames more easily adapted to the stroke.
If I allow myself to take my natural swing, I can nearly always see
the head of the club at the top of my swing, and at the finish it is
hanging nearly as far over the right shoulder as it was at the top of
the swing over the left shoulder. There can be no doubt that with a
swing like this, when one can control it sufficiently, one gets a very
long ball, and there is a very delightful feeling in getting a perfect
drive with such a swing, but from the very nature of the stroke it
stands to reason that it must be less accurate than a much shorter and
less showy effort.
Harry Vardon, in _The Complete Golfer_, asks: "Why is it that they
like to swing so much and waste so much power, unmindful of the fact
that the shorter the swing the greater the accuracy?" There can be no
doubt whatever that in the very full swing, such as I have described,
there is a waste of power and a sacrifice of accuracy. The rule which
is true of the put, "Keep the head of the club in the line to the hole
as long as you can, both before and after impact," is, _mutatis
mutandis_, just as applicable to the drive.
Vardon continues:
Many people are inclined to ask why, instead of playing a
half shot with the cleek, the iron is not taken and a full
stroke made with it, which is the way that a large proportion
of good golfers would employ for reaching the green from the
same distance. For some reason, which I cannot explain,
there seems to be an enormous number of players who prefer a
full shot with any club to a half shot with another, the
result being the same or practically so.
This is a curious remark to come from a golfer of the ability of Harry
Vardon. I should have thought that the reason is sufficiently obvious.
In playing a full shot the ordinary golfer feels that he has simply to
get the most that his club is capable of. He therefore has no
necessity to exercise any conscious muscular restraint. He plays the
shot and trusts the club for his regulation of distance, but on the
other hand, in playing a half shot he knows that he must exercise a
good deal of judgment in applying his strength. It seems to me that
there can be very little doubt that this is the reason why most
golfers prefer the full shot. However that may be, it is beyond doubt
that the desire, as Vardon puts it, "to swing so much" is the root
cause of a vast amount of very bad golf.
"The shorter the swing, the greater the accuracy." This statement is
as true of one's wooden clubs as it is of the iron. It should be
printed as a text and hung in every golf club-house in the world, for
there can be very little doubt that if the value of this advice were
thoroughly realised, it would make golf pleasanter and better for
every one. The blind worship of the full swing has been carried to a
lamentable extent, and golfers who devote any thought to their game
are beginning to understand that beyond a reasonable swing back, the
surplus is so much waste energy, and, which is more important still,
simply imports into the stroke a very much greater risk of error.
Many years ago I had a very remarkable illustration of the value of
the short swing. A club mate of mine who was an adept at most games,
and a champion at lawn-tennis and billiards, took it into his head to
play golf. He was in the habit of thinking for himself. Of course,
directly he started to learn golf, every one wished to make him tie
himself into the usual knots, but he refused to be influenced by other
people's ideas. He was content to work out his own salvation. He had
watched many of the unfortunate would-be golfers contorting themselves
in their efforts to reproduce what they took to be "a true St. Andrews
swing," but determined that he would not follow their example.
He had conceived the idea that a drive was only an exaggerated put,
and he made up his mind that he would proceed to exaggerate his put by
degrees until he had reached the limit of his drive, and had found
that no further swinging back would give him extra distance. He found
that he got no farther with his drive when he carried his club right
round to what is known as the full swing, than he did when his club
head came from about the same height as his lawn-tennis racket did in
playing the game which he knew so well.
When he had ascertained this he resolutely refused to increase the
length of his swing. His club mates laughed at him and told him that
it was not golf, that he was playing cricket, and many other pleasant
little things like this. It had no effect whatever on him, for he knew
that he was producing the stroke, in so far as he played it, exactly
according to the best-known methods of the leading golfers of the
world. He was content, in this respect, to follow known and accepted
methods, but he would not in any way adopt the prevalent idea of a
long swing.
Of course, he was laughed at and told that it was extremely bad form,
but before long he "had the scalps" of his detractors. Then they were
unable to say much about his golf, and he had very much the best of
the argument when within a remarkably short space of time he won the
championship of his Province. He proved quite conclusively to his own
satisfaction, and to the great chagrin of many of the other players,
the truth of Vardon's statement, "The shorter the swing the greater
the accuracy."
There can be very little doubt that for those who take to golf late in
life, especially if they have not played other games, the orthodox
swing is a trap. A very great number of them get the swing, but not
the ball. Many of them are, I am afraid, under the impression that the
swing is of more importance than getting the ball away. Needless to
say, they do not improve very much.
For those who take to golf late in life, I am sure that the great
principle which makes for length and direction in any ball game that
is, or ever was played, namely, keep in the line of your shot as long
as you can both before and after impact, will be found as sound to-day
as it always has been. Probably it will be found, and before very long
too, that what is true for the late beginner is equally true for the
greatest experts. As a matter of fact, some of our leading
professionals are beginning to realise this already, particularly with
regard to their iron play.
There are several very important points in connection with the short
swing--points which, I believe, are of very great advantage to the
golfer when once he has thoroughly grasped them. It is obvious that
the shorter the swing is, the less necessity will there be for
disturbing the position of one's feet. This naturally means that there
is less likelihood of any undue swaying. Secondly, the shorter swing
is naturally much more upright than the orthodox swing, and it comes
more natural to a player to hit downwards at his ball when using it.
The first point which we have made is that the shorter swing produces
less disturbance of the feet, because it is generally more upright
than a corresponding length of the orthodox swing. In the flat swing
there is less need to move the feet than there is in the upright
swing. It is in the latter that one feels _soonest_ the necessity for
lifting the heel of the left foot, but in the short swing there is not
the same necessity for balancing and pivoting on the toes as there is
in the orthodox drive, for the swing back is not extended enough to
require it. It should be apparent then that with the short swing much
of the complexity of the golf drive is taken away.
I must make this a little clearer: practically all the golf books tell
us that the left heel must come away from the earth when the arms seem
to draw it. Anyone who follows this out in practice will find that it
is impossible to preserve the rhythm of his swing. As a matter of
practical golf the left heel must come away from the earth as soon as
the head of the club leaves the ball. The motions are practically
simultaneous. This matter of the management of the feet is probably
the greatest contributing cause to the complexity of the golf drive,
and the many erroneous descriptions of it which are given by our
leading players. The principal reason for this is that it is the
latitude given to the body by this shifting of the heels which
accounts for the wrong transference of the weight to the right foot,
and the equally wrong _lurching_ on the left foot.
One would not, of course, for a moment advocate that the golfer's
heels should be immovable, although James Braid does maintain, quite
wrongly, I think, that the position of the feet at the moment of
impact should be exactly the same as at the moment of address--that
is, that the heels should be firmly planted on the ground. Although he
says this, the instantaneous photographs of him in the act of driving
show conclusively that he does not carry his theory into practice.
Many of our greatest golfers are beginning now to see that the firmer
the foundation, the more fixed and immovable the base, the steadier
must be the superstructure--to wit, the chest and shoulders--and
therefore the more constant will be the centre, if I may use the word
in a general sense, of the swing.
The importance of preserving this "centre" cannot be overestimated,
for golf is a game which demands a wonderful degree of mechanical
accuracy, and it is only by observing the best mechanical principles
that the best results can be obtained.
In the ordinary drive of the ordinary golfer there is usually an
excessive amount of foot and ankle work, and, generally speaking, this
foot and ankle work is not carried out in the best possible manner.
There is, as a matter of fact, imported into the drive far too great
an opportunity for the player to move his weight about. He takes full
advantage of this, and the usual result is that he transfers his
weight, when driving, to his right leg, which, as we shall see later
on, is a very bad fault for the golfer to acquire. In the shorter
swing there is much less temptation for the golfer to make the errors
which are usually attendant on faulty footwork.
The other point of importance which I have mentioned in connection
with the short swing, is that it comes much more naturally to the
player to hit downwards. Probably not one golfer in a hundred
realises that the vast majority of his strokes are made in a manner
wholly opposed to the best science of golf. They are, generally
speaking, _hit upwards_, whereas the most perfect golf drive should be
hit downwards, and this statement is, in perhaps a less degree, true
of nearly all golf strokes which are not played on the green.
The best way to get any ordinary ball into the air is to hit it
upwards, but this general rule does not apply to the golf ball, for it
is always stationary and is generally lying on turf. However, few
players will trust the loft of the club to perform its natural
function. They seem to forget that each club has been made with a loft
of such a nature that, given the ball is struck fairly and properly,
the loft may be relied on to do its share of the work. Consequently,
as they will not trust the club to get the ball up, they hit upwards,
and so, to a very great extent, minimise the amount of back-spin which
might come from the loft, were the club travelling in a horizontal
line at the moment of impact.
It is very much harder, however, to hit upwards with a short swing, or
perhaps it would be more correct to say that there is a much greater
tendency to hit the ball before the club head has got to the lowest
point in its swing. We must emphasise this point, for it is of great
importance, as back-spin is of the essence of the modern game, and
particularly of the modern drive. If, therefore, we can show that the
short swing tends more naturally to produce back-spin than does the
full St. Andrews swing, and at the same time to give greater accuracy
as regards direction, it need hardly be stated that it will not be
long before we have the scientific players giving the stroke the place
to which it is undoubtedly entitled in the game of golf.
CHAPTER V
THE DISTRIBUTION OF WEIGHT
The distribution of weight is of fundamental importance in the game of
golf. If one has not a perfectly clear and correct conception of the
manner in which one should manage one's weight, it is an absolute
certainty that there can be no rhythm in the swing. One often sees
references to the centre of the circle described by the head of the
club in the golf swing. It will be perfectly apparent on giving the
matter but little thought that the head of the golf club does not
describe a circle, but it is convenient to use the term "centre of the
circle" when referring to the arc which is described by the head of
the club.
The all-important matter of the distribution of weight has been dealt
with by the greatest players in the world. Let us see what Taylor,
Braid, and Vardon have to say about this subject, for it is no
exaggeration to say that this is a matter which goes to the very root
of golf. If one teaches the distribution of weight incorrectly, it
does not matter what else one teaches correctly, for the person who is
reared on a wrong conception of the manner in which his weight should
be distributed, can never play golf as it should be played. It is as
impossible for such a person to play real golf as it would be for a
durable building to be erected on rotten foundations.
Now let us see what the greatest players have to say about this.
Vardon, at page 68 of _The Complete Golfer_, says:
The movements of the feet and legs are important. In
addressing the ball you stand with both feet flat and
squarely placed on the ground, the weight equally divided
between them, and the legs so slightly bent at the
knee-joints as to make the bending scarcely noticeable. This
position is maintained during the upward movement of the club
until the arms begin to pull at the body. The easiest and
most natural thing to do then, and the one which suggests
itself, is to raise the heel of the left foot and begin to
pivot on the left toe, which allows the arms to proceed with
their uplifting process without let or hindrance. Do not
begin to pivot on this left toe ostentatiously, or because
you feel you ought to do so, but only when you know that the
time has come, and you want to, and do it only to such an
extent that the club can reach the full extent of the swing
without any difficulty.
While this is happening it follows that the weight of the
body is being gradually thrown on to the right leg, which
gradually stiffens, until at the top of the swing it is quite
rigid, the left being at the same time in a state of
comparative freedom, slightly bent in towards the right, with
only just enough pressure on the toe to keep it in position.
That is what Vardon has to say about this important matter.
At page 53 of _Great Golfers_, speaking of the "Downward Swing,"
Vardon further says:
In commencing the downward swing, I try to feel that both
hands and wrists are still working together. The wrists start
bringing the club down, and at the same moment, the left knee
commences to resume its original position. The head during
this time has been kept quite still, the body alone pivoting
from the hips.
It is obvious that if the pivoting is done _at the hips_ it will be
impossible to get the weight on the right leg at the top of the swing
without some contortion of the body, yet we read at page 70 of _The
Complete Golfer_ that "the weight is being gradually moved back again
from the right leg to the left." Thus is the old fatal idea persisted
in to the undoing of thousands of golfers.
I have already referred to the wonderful spine-jumping and rotating
which is described in _The Mystery of Golf_. Many might not understand
the jargon of anatomical terms used in this fearful and wonderful
idea, so I shall add here the author's corroboration of my
interpretation of his notion.
At page 167 he says: "The pivot upon which the spinal column rotates
is shifted from the head of the right thigh-bone to that of the left."
I have always been under the impression that the spinal column is very
firmly embedded on the os sacrum--that, in fact, the latter is
practically a portion of the spinal column, and that it is fixed into
the pelvic region in a manner which renders it highly inconvenient for
it to attempt any saltatory or rotatory pranks.
We are, however, told that the pivot on which the spinal column
rotates "shifts from the right leg to the left leg." If the spine were
"rotating," which of course it cannot do in the golf stroke, on any
"pivot," which, equally of course, it does not, that "pivot" must be
the immovable os sacrum. What then does all this nonsense mean?
James Braid, at page 56 of _Advanced Golf_, says:
At the top of the swing, although nearly all the weight will
be on the right foot, the player must feel a distinct
pressure on the left one, that is to say, it must still be
doing a small share in the work of supporting the body.
Taylor, in _Taylor on Golf_, at page 207, says:
Then, as the club comes back in the swing, the weight should
be shifted by degrees, quietly and gradually, until when the
club has reached its topmost point the whole weight of the
body is supported by the right leg, the left foot at this
time being turned, and the left knee bent in towards the
right leg. Next, as the club is taken back to the horizontal
position behind the head, the shoulders should be swung
round, although the head must be allowed to remain in the
same position with the eyes looking over the left shoulder.
At page 30 of _Practical Golf_ Mr. Walter J. Travis says:
In the upward swing it will be noticed that the body has been
turned very freely with the natural transference of weight
almost entirely to the right foot, and that the left foot has
been pulled up and around on the toe. Without such aid the
downward stroke would be lacking in pith. To get the
shoulders into the stroke they must first come round in
conjunction with the lower part of one's anatomy, smoothly
and freely revolving on an axis which may be represented by
an imaginary line drawn from the head straight down the back.
Otherwise, the arms alone, unassisted to any appreciable
extent, are called upon to do the work with material loss of
distance.
At page 88 of _Golf_ in the Badminton Series, Mr. Horace G. Hutchinson
says:
Now as the club came to the horizontal behind the head, the
body will have been allowed to turn, gently, with its weight
upon the right foot.
We here have the opinions of five golfers, whose words should
undoubtedly carry very great weight. The sum total of their considered
opinion is that in the drive at golf the weight at the top of the
swing must be on the right leg. I have, however, no hesitation in
saying that this idea is fundamentally unsound and calculated to
prove a very serious hindrance to anyone attempting to follow it. So
far from its being true that the weight of the body is supported by
the right foot at the top of the swing, I must say that entirely the
opposite is true, and that at the top of the swing the weight of the
body is borne by the left foot and leg in any drive of perfect rhythm.
This may possibly be going a little too far, so we shall, in the
meantime, content ourselves with _absolutely denying_ that the weight
at the top of the swing goes on to the _right_ leg, and with
_insisting_ that at the top of a perfectly executed swing _the main
portion of the weight must be borne by the left foot and leg_. In so
positively making this statement I am confronted by a mass of
authority which would deter many people from essaying to disprove such
a well-rooted delusion in connection with the game, but I think that
before we have finished with this subject we shall be able to show
very good reason for doubting the statements of these eminent players.
There is no possible doubt as to the rooted nature of this belief in
the minds of these players. James Braid, in fact, emphasises it in
some places. He says in _How to Play Golf_:
When the swing is well started, that is to say, when the club
has been taken a matter of about a couple of feet from the
ball, it will become impossible, or at least inconvenient and
uncomfortable to keep the feet so firmly planted on the
ground as they were when the address was made. It is the left
one that wants to move, and consequently at this stage you
must allow it to pivot. By this is meant that the heel is
raised slightly, and the foot turns over until only the ball
of it rests on the ground. Many players pivot on the toe, but
I think this is not so safe, and does not preserve the
balance so well. When this pivoting begins, the weight is
being taken off the left leg and transferred almost entirely
to the right, and at the same moment the left knee turns in
towards the right toe. The right leg then stiffens a little
and the right heel is more firmly than ever planted on the
ground.
It seems to me that these famous golfers are confronted by a
mechanical problem in this matter. The veriest tyro at golf is
familiar with the axiom that it is absolutely necessary for him to
keep his head still. Many authors tell one that the swing is conducted
as though the upper portion of the body moved on an axis consisting of
the spine. All golfers, authors, and professionals, who know anything
about the game, will tell one that the habit of swaying, which means
moving the head and body away from the hole, is fatal to accuracy.
Harry Vardon, at page 67, says: "In the upward movement of the club
the body must pivot from the waist alone and there must be no swaying,
not even to the extent of an inch." A little further down on the same
page, we read: "In addressing the ball you stand with both feet flat
and securely placed on the ground, the weight equally divided between
them."
Now it seems fairly obvious that if one starts the golf drive with the
weight practically evenly distributed between the right foot and the
left foot, and seeing that it is an axiom of golf that one must not
move one's head, it is impossible for one to get the weight of the
body on to the right foot and leg without absolutely contorting one's
frame. Let us make this clearer still. We have our golfer set at his
ball, his address perfect, and his weight evenly distributed between
his two feet. As he knows that it is wrong for him to move his head,
we can, without interfering with his drive in the slightest degree,
stretch tightly a wire at a right angle to the line of flight to the
hole and pass it across within a quarter of an inch of his neck,
below his right ear.
The position of this wire will not in any way hamper the golfer in his
drive, but in order to fulfil the instructions which are laid down
with the utmost persistence by every golf book, that it is of
fundamental importance to keep the head absolutely still, it will be
necessary for our golfer to play his drive without allowing his head
or neck to touch this wire; but if he can do this, and at the same
time get the weight of his body, at the top of his swing, on to his
right leg, as advised by Taylor, Braid, and Vardon, and by Messrs.
Hutchinson and Travis, without making himself both grotesque and
uncomfortable, he will indeed have performed an unparalleled feat in
the history of golf, for, to put the matter quite shortly, it is
nonsense to suppose that it can be done. The thing is mechanically
impossible.
If a man starts with his weight equally distributed between his legs,
and then uses his spine or any other imaginary pivot to turn his body
upon in the upward swing, it will be impossible for him to shift his
weight so that it goes back on to his right leg. I am not, of course,
allowing for a person who has an adjustable spine, such as that
described by Mr. Arnold Haultain in _The Mystery of Golf_, which
rotates, according to the author, first on one thigh bone and then on
another. This spine is of such a remarkable nature that I must devote,
later on, a little time to considering its vagaries. At present I am,
however, dealing with a matter of practical golf and simple mechanics,
about which there is absolutely no mystery but a vast amount of
misconception.
When I first stated in _Modern Golf_, which, so far as I am aware, was
the first book wherein this fundamental truth was laid down, that the
left was the foot which bore the greater burden, it was regarded as
revolutionary teaching, but there is not a professional golfer of any
reputation whatever who now dares to teach that at the top of the
swing the weight is to be put on the right. There is, however, no harm
in fortifying oneself with the opinion of at least one of the
triumvirate expressed elsewhere. Personally, I think that the
mechanical proposition is so extremely simple and incontrovertible, as
I have stated it, that it is unnecessary to go further, but such is
the veneration of the golfer for tradition that as a matter of duty to
the game I shall leave no stone unturned, not only to scotch, but
absolutely to kill, this mischievous idea which is so injurious to the
game.
In _Great Golfers_, Harry Vardon says, speaking of his address and
stance: "I stand firmly, with the weight rather on the right leg." At
page 50 of the same book he says, speaking of the top of the swing:
"There is distinct pressure of the left toe and very little more
weight should be felt on the right leg than there was when the ball
was addressed." We see clearly here that Vardon's statement in _Great
Golfers_ that at the top of the swing "very little more weight should
be felt on the right leg than there was when the ball was addressed"
does not agree with his statement in _The Complete Golfer_ wherein he
states that "the weight of the body is being gradually thrown on to
the right leg." The unfortunate part about this contradiction is that
_Great Golfers_ was published before _The Complete Golfer_, so that we
are bound to take it as Vardon's more mature and considered opinion
that the weight at the top of the stroke is thrown mainly on the right
leg.
[Illustration: PLATE VI. HARRY VARDON
The finish of his drive, showing how the weight goes forward
on to the left foot.]
This leaves us apparently as we were, but seeing the contradiction in
Vardon's statement, we may with advantage turn to action
photographs of him taken whilst actually playing the stroke. Here we
see most clearly in such photographs as those shown on pages 86 and 87
of _Great Golfers_, that the body, instead of going away from the
hole, has, if anything, gone forward. This is sufficiently marked in
the photographs which I am now referring to, but in _Fry's Magazine_
for the month of March 1909 there appeared a remarkable series of
photographs showing ten drives by Harry Vardon. These photographs are,
unquestionably, of very great value to the game, for they show beyond
any shadow of doubt whatever, that Vardon's weight is never, at any
portion of his drive, mainly on his right leg. The first photograph
showing him at the top of his swing is a wonderful illustration of the
fact that at the top of the swing in golf the main portion of the
weight goes forward on to the left foot.
Before leaving this portion of our consideration of the distribution
of weight, I must refer again to the description given of this matter
in _The Mystery of Golf_. The author says:
The whole body must turn on the pivot of the head of the
right thigh bone working in the cotyloidal cavity of the "os
innominatum" or pelvic bone, the head, right knee, and right
foot, remaining fixed, with the eyes riveted on the ball. In
the upward swing the vertebral column rotates upon the head
of the right femur, the right knee being fixed; and as the
club head nears the ball, the fulcrum is rapidly changed from
the right to the left hip, the spine now rotating on the left
thigh bone, the left knee being fixed; and the velocity is
accelerated by the arms and wrists in order to add the force
of the muscles to the weight of the body, thus gaining the
greatest impetus possible. Not every professional instructor
has succeeded in putting before his pupil the correct stroke
in golf in this anatomical exposition.
For which we may be devoutly thankful, for if ever there was written
an absolutely ridiculous thing about golf which could transcend in
stupidity this description, I should like to see it.
As a matter of fact, the statement does not merit serious notice, but
the book is published by a reputable firm of publishers, and no doubt
has been read by some people who do not know sufficient for themselves
to be able to analyse the alleged analysis of the author.
Let us now subject his analysis to a little of the analysing process.
We are told that "the whole body must turn on the pivot of the head of
the right thigh bone working in the cotyloidal cavity of the 'os
innominatum' or pelvic bone." This is merely another way of saying
that the right leg and foot is supporting the whole weight of the
body, although the head must remain fixed. We have already considered
the similar statements expressed in _The Mystery of Golf_, and by much
more important people in the golfing world than the author of this
book, so we need not labour this point, but he goes on to reduce his
directions to the most ludicrous absurdity. We are told that in the
upward swing the vertebral column rotates upon the head of the right
femur.
Of course, I am not personally acquainted with Mr. Haultain, and he
may be speaking from his own practice, but assuming for the sake of
argument that he is a normally constructed man, the base of his
vertebral column never gets anywhere near his right femur, nor is it
possible for anybody's vertebral column to rotate unless the person is
rotating with it, which one is inclined to think would prove rather
detrimental to the drive at golf if indulged in between the stance and
address and impact.
As though we had not already had sufficient fun for our money, we are
told that "as the club head nears the ball the fulcrum is rapidly
changed from the right to the left hip, the spine now rotating on the
left thigh bone."
So far as one can judge from our author's description he must have
been in the habit of playing golf amongst a race of men who have
adjustable spines, the tail end of which they are able to wag from one
side of the pelvic bone to the other. Personally, I have yet to meet
golfers of this description. One feels inclined to ask the author of
this remarkable statement what is happening to the os coccyx whilst
one is wagging one's spine about in this remarkable manner.
This statement is about the funniest thing which has ever been written
in golf, and it has absolutely no relation whatever to practical golf.
It is merely an imaginative and absolutely incorrect exposition of the
golf drive, not only from a golfing, but from an anatomical, point of
view; and it is to me an absolute wonder how anyone, even one who
labels himself "a duffer," can attach his name to such obviously
inaccurate and foolish statements. One really would be inclined to be
much more severe than one is in dealing with such a book were it not
for the amusement which one has derived from a perusal of such fairy
tales as a rotating spine which, during the course of the golf drive,
jumps from one thigh bone to the other, steeplechasing the pelvic bone
as it performs this remarkable feat.
I have referred in other places to the looseness of Mr. Haultain's
descriptions in all matters of practical golf. At page 89 he confirms
one's impression, if confirmation were required, that his idea of the
fundamental principle of the golf swing is as ill-formed as are his
notions of anatomy, for he says: "The left knee must be loose at the
beginning and firm at the finish." At no time during a stroke in golf,
of any description whatever, should there be any looseness of the
body. During the production of the golf stroke the body is practically
full of tension and attention. It is the greatest mistake possible to
imagine that because one portion of the body is doing the work, any
other portion may "slack." One who makes this statement has not a
glimmering of the beginning of the real game of golf. I can readily
believe that to such an one golf is a "mystery."
The left knee is in harness from the moment the ball is addressed
until long after it has been driven, and it is a certainty that the
left knee has far more work to do than has the right, so for anyone to
cultivate an idea that the left knee may, at any time during the
production of the golfing stroke, "be loose," is a very grave error.
While we are considering the matter of the distribution of weight, it
will be advisable for us to devote our attention to the disposition of
the weight at the moment of impact. Speaking of the management of the
weight at this critical time, Vardon says:
When the ball has been struck, and the follow-through is
being accomplished, there are two rules, hitherto held
sacred, which may at last be broken. With the direction and
force of the swing your chest is naturally turned round until
it is facing the flag, and your body now abandons all
restraint, and to a certain extent throws itself, as it were,
after the ball. There is a great art in timing this body
movement exactly. If it takes place the fiftieth part of a
second too soon the stroke will be entirely ruined; if it
comes too late it will be quite ineffectual and will only
result in making the golfer feel uneasy, and as if something
had gone wrong. When made at the proper instant it adds a
good piece of distance to the drive, and that instant, as
explained, is just when the club is following through.
It is evident from this statement, that Vardon is under the
impression that the timing of this body movement should be so
performed as to come in when the club is following through. I have
shown before that the follow-through of a stroke is of no importance
whatever except as the result of a perfectly executed first half of
the stroke, if one may so describe it. It must be obvious to anyone
who knows but little either of golf or mechanics that nothing which
the body or the club does after contact between the ball and the club
has ceased can have any influence whatever upon the flight of the
ball, either as to distance or direction. Practically everything which
takes place after the ball has left the club is the natural result of
what has been done before impact. This cannot be too forcibly
impressed upon golfers, for it is not at all uncommon to find men
deliberately stating that the follow-through exerts a tremendous
influence on the stroke. It should be perfectly manifest that this
cannot be so. It is no doubt of very great importance to have a good
follow-through, but the good follow-through must be the result of a
good stroke previously played, otherwise it will be worthless.
Harry Vardon states that this timing of the body movement takes place
immediately after impact, for that is "just when the club is following
through." He has himself provided the best possible refutation of this
obviously erroneous statement. The timing of the body on to the ball
in the manner mentioned by him practically commences, in every drive
of perfect rhythm as are so many of Vardon's, from the moment the
stroke starts, for the body weight which is put into the golf drive
comes largely from the half turn of the shoulders and upper portions
of the body from the hips in the downward swing. This half turn and
the slight forward movement of the hips are practically one and the
same. If they are not, something has gone wrong with the drive.
Absolute evidence of the correctness of this statement is provided by
Vardon himself in _Fry's Magazine_ for March 1909. Here we see the
remarkable series of ten drives by Vardon which I have already
referred to. The first photograph shows most clearly that at the top
of the swing the main portion of his weight is on his left foot. As a
matter of carrying golf to the extreme of scientific calculation it is
quite probable that there is much more than Vardon's physical weight
on his left leg, for the rapid upward swing of his club is suddenly
arrested when considerably nearer the hole than his left shoulder, so
that the leverage of the head of the club will have thrown more weight
than that which the left actually bears on it as its share of Vardon's
avoirdupois. This, of course, is undoubted as a matter of practical
mechanics, but it is not of sufficient importance to enter into fully
in any way here.
It is, however, of importance for us to consider the photographs which
follow, for here we see quite clearly that very early in the downward
swing Vardon raises his right heel and bends his left knee slightly
forward, and in the third, fourth, and fifth photographs we see very
clearly that he is executing that turn of his body which carries his
weight forward on to the ball in a very marked degree. This point is
very clearly brought out in the instantaneous photographs of both
Vardon's driving, and in that of George Duncan's. It is positively
futile to say that the timing of the body weight in the follow-through
is done when the club is following through, because it is obvious that
this would not be "at the proper instant," and that it could not, by
any stretch of imagination, add "a good piece of distance to the
drive."
It is curious to note in this connection that on page 53 of _Great
Golfers_ Harry Vardon says:
Almost simultaneously with the impact, the right knee
slightly bends in the direction of the hole, and allows the
wrists and forearms to take the club right out in the
direction of the line of flight, dragging the arms after them
as far as they will comfortably go, when the club head
immediately leaves the line of flight and the right foot
turns on the toe. This allows the body to turn from the hips
and face the hole, the club finishing over the left shoulder.
Here it will be seen that Vardon brings the timing of this very
important forward movement back a little to "almost simultaneously
with the impact." Now this phrase may mean immediately prior to, or
immediately after, impact, and there can be no possible doubt which it
is. It must be _prior_ to impact if it is to exert any beneficial
effect whatever upon the stroke. To add any distance to the drive, it
is obvious that what was done in the way of timing the body on to the
ball must have been done _prior to impact_, and merely continued after
the ball had gone away, so that the finish was perfectly natural.
Now Vardon shows quite clearly in his drive that in his follow-through
his weight goes forward until it is practically all on his left leg.
So, for the matter of that, do the instantaneous photographs of nearly
every famous golfer, but some of them have a very peculiar
misconception of the disposition of weight at the moment of impact.
Let us, for instance, see what James Braid has to say about the matter
at page 53 of _Advanced Golf_. Dealing with this all-important moment,
he says:
I would draw the reader's very careful attention to the
sectional photographs that are given on a separate page, and
which in this form show the various workings of the
different parts of the body while the swing is in progress
as they could not be shown in any other way. They have all
been prepared from photographs of myself, taken for the
special purpose of this book. In some cases, in order to show
more completely the progress of the different movements from
the top of the swing to the finish, the position at the
moment of striking is included. Theoretically, that ought to
be exactly the same as the position at the address: and even
in practice it will be found to be as nearly identical as
possible, in the case of good driving, that is. Therefore,
for the sake of precision, the third photograph in each
series of four is a simple repetition of the first, and is
not a special photograph.
I may mention that this is a common idea of illustrating a golf
stroke. The author of the book shows the stance and address. He then
shows the top of the swing, and after that the finish, and he thinks
that he has then done his duty by his reader. As a matter of fact,
these are all positions in the swing where there is practically
"nothing doing" as the American puts it.
To illustrate the various movements in the drive, I took for _Modern
Golf_, and used, eighteen different positions, and there was not one
too many. It is quite impossible to illustrate the drive in golf by
three positions; and it is absolutely erroneous to attempt to
illustrate the moment of impact by a repetition of the photograph
taken for stance and address. From the golfing point of view it is
almost impossible to imagine two positions which are so entirely
dissimilar. From the point of view of a mere photographer there may be
some slight similarity, as indeed there is in all photographs of
golfers, but to compare stance and address with the position at the
moment of impact with the ball, is mere futility.
Let us quote Braid's remarks with regard to stance and address:
When in position and ready for play, both the legs and the
arms of the player should be just a trifle relaxed--just so
much as to get rid of any feeling of stiffness, and to allow
of the most complete freedom of movement. The slackening may
be a little more pronounced in the case of the arms than with
the legs, as much more freedom is required of them
subsequently. They should fall easily and comfortably to the
sides, and the general feeling of the player at this stage
should be one of flexibility and power.
Everything is now in readiness for making the stroke, and the
player prepares to hit the ball.... While he is doing this he
will feel the desire to indulge in a preliminary waggle of
the club just to see that his arms are in working order,
waving the club backwards and forwards once or twice over the
ball.... Obviously there is no rule in such matters, and the
player can only be enjoined to make himself comfortable in
the best way he can.
Now we see here that the main idea of the player at the moment of
address is to make himself comfortable--in other words, to get into as
natural a position as he possibly can in order to execute his stroke.
The whole idea of the stance and address is to get into a perfectly
natural position, and one that is quite comfortable and best
calculated to enable one to produce a correct stroke. We see clearly
that this is what Braid considers to be necessary at the moment of
address.
Let us turn now to _Advanced Golf_ at page 61, which we have already
quoted. Braid, at that page and on the preceding pages, explains
clearly that the whole idea of the golf stroke is supreme tension, and
that at the moment of impact the tension is greatest. He says: "Then
comes the moment of impact. Crack! Everything is let loose, and round
comes the body immediately the ball is struck and goes slightly
forward until the player is facing the line of flight." Is it possible
to imagine two more diametrically opposed conditions of the human
frame than those which I have described in Braid's own words? Yet we
find this fine player producing, for the guidance of golfers as to
what takes place at the moment of impact, the same photograph which he
shows them for stance and address!
Moreover, Braid himself clearly shows in his action photographs that
such a statement as this is quite wrong. If we had any doubt at all
about the matter, we might examine the photographs of Braid himself,
which show clearly that the positions taken up by him when addressing
the ball and when hitting it, are, as might easily be believed, widely
different, for at the moment of impact there is the supreme tension
and power which he advises as being a necessity for the production of
a long drive. It is true that James Braid's feet, particularly his
right foot, do not move from the ground so much as do those of Harry
Vardon or George Duncan; but it is nevertheless true that the movement
of his legs, arms, and shoulders show, at the moment of impact, a
position totally different from that taken up by him during his stance
and address.
It might seem that these things are not of sufficient importance to
warrant the critical analysis to which I am subjecting them, but there
can be no doubt that there are a vast number of people to whom golf is
of infinitely more importance than political economy, and to these it
is a matter of most vital importance that they should know what they
are doing and what they ought to do at this critical period; and in
dealing with the books which have been produced in connection with the
game of golf they have such a mass of contradictory and fallacious
teaching to wade through, that it is small wonder that they are, as a
rule, utterly befogged as to the proper principles upon which to
proceed.
Let us, for instance, examine these two statements with regard to the
follow-through. At page 55 of _How to Play Golf_, in his chapter on
"Finishing the Stroke," James Braid says:
The second that the ball is hit, and not before, the player
should begin to turn on his right toe, and to allow a little
bend of the right knee, so as to allow the right shoulder to
come round until the body faces the line of flight of the
ball. When this is done properly the weight will be thrown on
to the left foot, and the whole body will be thrown slightly
forward. The whole of this movement needs very careful
timing, because it is a very common fault with some players
to let the body get in too soon, and in such cases the stroke
is always ruined. Examine the photographs.
Let us now turn to page 62 of _Advanced Golf_. Here we read:
As for the follow-through, there is very little that can be
said here, which is not already perfectly understood, if it
is not always produced. After impact, and the release of all
tension, body and arms are allowed to swing forward in the
direction of the flight of the ball, and I would allow the
right knee to give a little in order to remove all restraint.
But the weight must not be entirely taken off the right foot.
That foot must still be felt to be pressing firmly on the
turf, showing that although the weight has been changed from
one place to another, the proper balance has not been lost.
Braid here says that the weight must not be entirely taken off the
right foot. Well, to all intents and purposes, it is entirely taken
off the right foot, as will be shown by photographs of any of the
leading players in the world at the finish of the stroke, and, indeed,
of James Braid himself. Braid says: "Examine the photographs," and I
have examined them. At pages 57 and 59 of _How to Play Golf_ Braid is
shown finishing a full drive or brassy shot. Here, without any
possible doubt, his weight is all on his left foot. At page 61 of
_Advanced Golf_ there are some photographs of Braid's boots and
trousers from the knee downwards, entitled "Leg action in driving."
One of these is entitled "Finish." Here it will be seen that the whole
of the weight is unmistakably on the left leg.
If one looks at the instantaneous photographs of James Braid in this
book and in _Great Golfers_ one will see quite clearly that in all
finishes his weight goes unmistakably on to his left leg.
Braid makes a very wonderful statement in _Great Golfers_ at page 175.
Writing there of the downward swing, he says: "My body does not
commence to turn till the club head is about two feet from the
ball--namely, at the point when the wrists come into the stroke." As a
matter of fact James Braid's body begins to turn almost simultaneously
with the beginning of the downward stroke, and as another matter of
practical golf the wrists also come in at the very beginning of the
stroke. With this latter point I shall, however, deal later on.
Let me here emphasise the fact that the body turn must commence very
early in the stroke, as indeed is quite natural. It is obvious that if
anyone were to postpone the turning of the body until the club head
"is about two feet from the ball" the rhythm of the stroke would be
utterly destroyed. In this matter I am contradicting Braid flatly
about his own practice. Therefore, I must refer any reader who doubts
the accuracy of my statement, and Braid himself, if he cares to
challenge it, to _Fry's Magazine_ for May 1909, wherein are shown
eight drives by James Braid. No. 1 shows Braid at the top of his
swing; No. 2 shows him before his club head has travelled a foot, and
even in this short distance we see that his body has already turned
very considerably. Any attempt whatever to follow out what Braid says
here and to postpone the turn of the body until the club head is two
feet from the ball, must prove disastrous.
Braid continues on the same page:
At this moment the left knee turns rather quickly, as at the
moment of striking, I am firm on both feet; the quickness of
the action makes it difficult to follow with the eye, but I
am convinced this is what happens. Immediately after impact I
commence turning on the right toe, bending the right knee
slightly. This allows the right shoulder to come round till
the body is facing the hole. It is most essential that this
should be done, and then no thought will be given as to how
the club will finish, as the speed at which the club head is
travelling will naturally take it well through.
Here we have, at least, very important corroboration of the fact that
one need not worry about the follow-through if the first portion of
the stroke has been correctly played. Braid says that at the moment of
striking "the player is quite firm on both his feet and faces directly
to the ball, just as he did when he was addressing it before he began
the upward swing. Anyone who thinks out the theory of the swing for
himself will see that it is obviously intended that at the moment of
impact the player shall be just as he was when he addressed the ball,
which is the position which will afford him most driving power and
accuracy."
This statement is so amazing that I must give definite instructions as
to where to find it. It is on page 54 of _How to Play Golf_, and I
think it proves conclusively that the idea which Braid is endeavouring
to impart to his pupils and readers is entirely wrong, and is not the
method which he himself follows in practice. Confirmation of my
opinion can be obtained from a study of the third picture in the
series of drives by James Braid in the May number of _Fry's Magazine_
for 1909, which I have just referred to. Here we see clearly that the
positions, from a golfing point of view, are utterly dissimilar, as
indeed is most natural.
Braid states that immediately after impact he commences "turning on
the right toe, bending the right knee slightly." I think it will be
found that even with James Braid, who certainly uses his legs in a
somewhat different manner from many of the leading professionals, the
right foot begins to lift before impact with the ball. I am inclined
to think that both Braid and Taylor are more flat-footed at the moment
of impact than most of the other professional golfers; but there can
be little doubt that the body is swung into the blow before impact,
otherwise it would be a matter of practical impossibility for them to
obtain the length which they do; while it is a certainty that for the
ordinary golfer it would be fatal to attempt to keep his weight in any
way whatever on his right leg at the finish of his drive.
This rooted fallacy with regard to the distribution of weight so that
at the top of the swing it shall be on the right foot, has obtained
its hold in a very peculiar manner. At the top of the swing the right
leg is practically perfectly straight, and, naturally, as the foot is
firmly planted on the ground and therefore held at both the heel and
the toe while the leg has turned with the body, there is a very
considerable amount of torsional or twisting strain on the leg. This
torsional strain, added to the fact that the leg is perfectly
straight, has led to the idea that a great deal of the weight is on
the right leg.
This idea has been confirmed to a very great degree by the manner of
contact of the left foot with the earth. At the top of the swing the
golfer pivots on the left foot, practically from the ball of the big
toe to the end thereof, or on that portion of his boot representing
this space. This naturally makes his contact with the earth _appear
light_. These two causes, taken together, have produced the fallacy
with regard to having the weight on the right foot and leg at the top
of the swing. In the one case it is a physical cause, namely, the
stiffness and torsional strain on the right leg, and in the other case
it is a visual deception. It stands to reason that, provided the two
surfaces will bear the strain, as much weight could be borne on a
point as on a surface immeasurably greater, but in the second case
there would be a greater _appearance_ of weight. This is exactly what
has happened with regard to the golf drive. It is executed extremely
quickly, and those who have attempted to explain it have not been able
to follow the motions with sufficient rapidity and intelligence, nor
have they been able to explain them accurately either from a
mechanical or anatomical point of view.
Until we can get some golfer who can pass the test suggested by me,
and play his stroke without touching the wire strained within a
quarter of an inch of his neck, after having taken his stance with his
weight evenly distributed between his legs, and at the same time play
it without contortion with his weight on his right leg, we may take it
that this tremendous fallacy with regard to the distribution of weight
at the top of the swing has been exploded.
CHAPTER VI
THE POWER OF THE LEFT
The fetich of the left is, amongst golfers, only second, if indeed it
is second in its injurious nature, to the idea that the weight should
be put on the right foot at the top of the swing. It is very hard
indeed to trace the origin of the idea that the left hand and arm is
of more importance in the golf stroke than the right, but that it is a
very rooted idea there can be no doubt whatever.
To those who are not acquainted with the literature of golf and the
remarkable ideas which many golfers have of the nature of their game,
it would seem almost superfluous to go very fully into this matter,
for one would think that it is sufficiently obvious that the right
hand and arm are the dominant factors in producing the golf stroke. It
is, however, useless to deny that there is a large body of opinion,
backed by most influential authority, in favour of the left hand and
arm being more important than the right.
Let us see, before we go any further in the matter, what the leading
professionals have to say about it.
Harry Vardon, it is true, does not explicitly state that the right
hand is the more important, but by implication he does assert so right
throughout _The Complete Golfer_. Let me quote a few of his remarks
with regard to the left hand. On page 61 Vardon says:
The grip with the first finger and thumb of my right hand is
exceedingly firm, and the pressure of the little finger on
the knuckle of the left hand is very decided. In the same way
it is the thumb and first finger of the left hand that have
most of the gripping work to do. Again, the palm of the right
hand presses hard against the thumb of the left. In the
upward swing this pressure is gradually decreased, until when
the club reaches the turning point there is no longer any
such pressure; indeed, at this point the palm and the thumb
are barely in contact.
We see here clearly that, as indeed Vardon has stated elsewhere, at
the top of the swing the grip of the right has opened up until it may
almost in a measure be said to have ceased to direct operations.
Vardon continues:
This release is a natural one, and will or should come
naturally to the player for the purpose of allowing the head
of the club to swing well and freely back. But the grip of
the thumb and first finger of the right hand, as well as that
of the little finger upon the knuckle of the first finger of
the left hand, is still as firm as at the beginning.
From this it will be seen that the grip at each side of the hand is
apparently as firm as it was at the beginning of the stroke, but in
some mysterious manner it has eased up in between the forefinger and
the little finger. We need not, however, go any further into that
matter at the present time, but we may continue the consideration of
Vardon's statement here. He goes on to say: "As the club head is swung
back again towards the ball, the palm of the right hand and the thumb
of the left gradually come together again. Both the relaxing and the
retightening are done with the most perfect graduation, so that there
shall be no jerk to take the club off the straight line. The easing
begins when the hands are about shoulder high and the club shaft is
perpendicular, because it is at this time that the club begins to
pull, and if it were not let out in the manner explained, the result
would certainly be a half shot or very little more than that, for a
full and perfect swing would be an impossibility. This relaxation of
the palm also serves to give more freedom to the wrist at the top of
the swing just when that freedom is desirable."
We might, for a moment, leave this statement, and turn to page 126.
Speaking here of the approach shot with the mashie Vardon says: "This
is one of the few shots in golf in which the right hand is called upon
to do most of the work, and that it may be encouraged to do so the
hold with the left hand should be slightly relaxed"; and again at page
147 in dealing with putting Vardon says: "But in this part of the game
it is quite clear that the right hand has more work to do than the
left."
In these statements it is quite evident that Vardon wishes to express
the idea that, generally speaking, the left hand is in command of the
stroke.
Reverting for a moment, and before I proceed to consider what the
other authorities have to say on this subject, to Vardon's remark that
"This is one of the few shots in golf in which the right hand is
called upon to do most of the work," I may say that Vardon does not,
in the whole of _The Complete Golfer_, explicitly describe any one
stroke wherein he shows that the left hand "is called upon to do most
of the work," nor, for the matter of that, does any other professional
golfer or author, although the statement is common to nearly all books
on the game.
James Braid, on page 55 of _How to Play Golf_, says:
A word about the varying pressure of the grip with each hand.
In the address the left hand should just be squeezing the
handle of the club, but not so tightly as if one were afraid
of losing it. The right hand should hold the club a little
more loosely. The left hand should hold firmly all the way
through. The right will open a little at the top of the swing
to allow the club to move easily, but it should automatically
tighten itself in the downward swing.
Here again we see the idea that the left is in charge, because
although we are told that in the address the left hand should "just be
squeezing" the club, yet we are told clearly and definitely that "the
left hand should hold firmly all the way through." It is somewhat
difficult to reconcile these directions, and it is obvious that if the
right is going to "open a little at the top of the swing" the club
will certainly move easily--in fact it will move so easily that the
accuracy of the stroke will be very considerably interfered with.
Let us for a moment turn to _Advanced Golf_. There, James Braid,
speaking of the top of the swing, says: "Now for the return journey.
Here at the top, arms, wrists, body--all are in their highest state of
tension." Let me pause here for a moment to ask how it is possible for
"arms, wrists, body" all to be "in their highest state of tension," if
the right hand is to "open a little at the top of the swing to allow
the club to move easily"; and how is it possible for the right hand to
"automatically tighten itself in the downward swing" if it was already
in its "highest state of tension" when it was at the top of the swing?
It will be apparent that it is utterly impossible for the arms and
wrists to be tighter than they are when they are "in their highest
state of tension." Therefore, we must take it that James Braid's
advice at page 55 of _How to Play Golf_ is over-ridden by his advice
at page 57 of _Advanced Golf_, for I think that we are entitled to
consider that _Advanced Golf_ represents Braid's last word with regard
to the science of golf.
Quoting still from the same passage, page 57 of _Advanced Golf_, Braid
says: "Every muscle and joint in the human golfing machinery is wound
up to the highest point." It is impossible to get away from that. We
are told that at the beginning of the downward swing "every muscle and
joint in the human golfing machinery is wound up to the highest
point."
Now the student of golf who desires to start his swing on a firm and
sure foundation must mark this statement well. I repeat it for the
third time: "Every muscle and joint in the human golfing machinery is
wound up to the highest point," and let it be remembered that Braid is
now speaking _of the start of the downward swing_.
We will now turn to _Taylor on Golf_. At page 193 Taylor says:
My contention is simply this: that the grasp of the right
hand upon the club must be sufficiently firm in itself to
hold it steady and true, but it must not be allowed on any
account to over-power the left. The idea is that the latter
arm must exercise a predominant influence in every stroke
that may be played. As regards my own position in the matter,
my grip with either hand is very firm, yet I should hesitate
before I told every golfer to go and do likewise.
Here we see that Taylor distinctly says that "the idea is that the
latter arm (_i.e._ the left) must exercise the predominant influence
in every stroke that may be played," and although he says explicitly
that his own grip with both hands is very firm, he puts the utterly
false idea of the predominance of the left into the minds of those who
are influenced by his teaching.
Taylor, at page 107 of _Great Golfers_, says in dealing with the
"Downward Swing":
The club is brought down principally by the left wrist, the
right doing very little until the hands are opposite the
right leg, when it begins to assert itself, bringing the full
face of the club to the ball.
It is almost unnecessary to say, especially in view of Taylor's
statement that he holds very firmly with both hands, that he does not
carry out this dangerous teaching. Harry Vardon says to attempt it is
fatal, and I am pleased to add my corroboration.
This amazing fallacy is wonderfully deeply rooted. A friend of mine
some time ago was in trouble about his iron shots. He consulted a
professional, who endeavoured to cure him by telling him when playing
his stroke to hold so lightly with his right hand that at any time
during the stroke he could slide it up and down the shaft.
Oh no! He is not a duffer, nor is he mentally unbalanced. He is merely
a professional golfer who plays for England and suffers from the
hallucination handed on to him by more famous players than he.
What could be stronger than this? Let me quote Taylor again. At page
90 of _Taylor on Golf_ he says:
The right hand is naturally the stronger of the two--much
more powerful in the average man than the left--and the
learner is just as naturally prone to use it. But in the game
of golf he must keep in front of him at all times the fact
that the left hand should fill the position of guide, and it
must have the predominating influence over the stroke.
That this is rather unnatural I am perfectly willing to
admit. Its being unnatural is the basis of its great
difficulty, but it is a difficulty that must needs be
grappled with and overcome by any man who desires to play the
game as it should be played.
But Taylor will not give in to this idea himself! Is not this
wonderful?
Harry Vardon says of the grip that one should "remember that the grip
with _both_ hands should be firm. That with the right hand should not
be slack as one is so often told." This is valuable corroboration, for
it must be remembered that Vardon only subscribes to the fetich of the
left _by implication_. Nowhere, I think, can we convict him of
actually preaching it.
Now let us turn to the volume on _Golf_ in the Badminton Library
contributed by Mr. Horace G. Hutchinson. At page 85 Mr. Hutchinson
says:
Since, as will be shown later on, the club has to turn in the
right hand at a certain point in the swing, it should be held
lightly in the fingers, rather than in the palm, with that
hand. In the left hand it should be held well home in the
palm, and it is not to stir from this position throughout the
swing. It is the left hand, mainly, that communicates the
power of the swing; the chief function of the right hand is
as a guide in direction.
At page 87 Mr. Hutchinson continues:
So much, then, for the grip. Now, when the club, in the
course of its swing away from the ball, is beginning to rise
from the ground, and is reaching the horizontal with its head
pointing to the player's left, it should be allowed to turn
naturally in the right hand until it is resting upon the web
between the forefinger and the thumb.
We see here that this distinguished amateur is an out and out adherent
of the fallacy of the left. He tells us distinctly that it is the
"left hand, mainly, that communicates the power of the swing, and that
the chief function of the right hand is as a guide in direction," but
notwithstanding the fact that "the chief function of the right hand is
as a guide in direction," we see that at the top of the stroke it
turns loosely in the hand until it is "resting upon the web between
the forefinger and the thumb."
[Illustration: PLATE VII. HARRY VARDON
The finish of the drive--a little later than in Plate VI.,
showing the weight completely on the left foot.]
Of course, in the circumstances, it will be very hard indeed for us to
follow out James Braid's idea of everything at this point being in
supreme tension, but it is interesting to see what Mr. Hutchinson
thinks about the matter.
We have here the opinions of the three most distinguished
professionals in the world, backed by that of one of the distinguished
amateurs in the game, a man who has distinguished himself both by his
play and his writing. In the face of this weight of authority it may
seem rash to venture to state plainly and explicitly that as a matter
of practical golf the right hand and arm is the dominant partner, and
that it is the duty of every normal golfer to have this idea firmly
implanted in his mind when he settles down to his address.
As the right is the dominant partner in the golf drive, so must the
predominance of the right be the dominant idea in one's mind, but the
domination of the right must not be abused, as we shall show later on.
It is, of course, proper for a golfer to have clearly fixed in his
mind the fact that the right is the more important member of the two,
but when he has once got that fact carefully and well stowed away in
his mind, it will be no more trouble to him than it is at present to
every normal person to use his knife in his right hand with which to
cut his meat, for it is an absolutely natural proceeding. The trouble
with the fetich of the left is that not only is it a perfectly
unnatural proceeding, but it is also, on that account, something extra
for the golfer to cumber his mind with during his swing. If he plays
his stroke naturally and without any thought of the mismade maxims of
unpractical persons, he will inevitably let the right hand and arm
take charge of the stroke, but the right will not at any time
endeavour to do more than its proper share, and therefore the left
will be given every chance to do a fair amount of the work. It is the
interference with Nature by putting the left forward into a place
which it has no right to occupy, which ruins so many golf strokes.
Let us now turn to _The Complete Golfer_. Here, at page 60, Harry
Vardon says:
We must now consider the degree of tightness of the grip by
either hand, for this is an important matter. Some teachers
of golf, and various books of instruction, inform us that we
should grasp the club firmly with the left hand and only
lightly with the right, leaving the former to do the bulk of
the work and the other merely to guide the operations.
It is astonishing with what persistency this error has been
repeated, for error I truly believe it is. Ask any really
first-class player with what comparative tightness he holds
the club in his right and left hands, and I am confident that
in nearly every case he will declare that he holds it,
nearly, if not quite, as tightly with the right hand as with
the left. Personally, I grip quite as firmly with the right
hand as with the other one. When the other way is
adopted--the left hand being tight and the right hand simply
watching it, as it were--there is an irresistible tendency
for the latter to tighten up suddenly at some part of the
upward or downward swing, and, as surely as there is a ball
on the tee, when it does so there will be mischief.
If we sum up the advice of Vardon and Taylor, and of Braid as shown in
his latest work _Advanced Golf_, we see clearly that although they
subscribe to the idea of the predominance of the power of the left
hand and arm, they do not themselves carry it out in practice. Taylor
says that his grip with both hands is very firm, yet he should
hesitate before recommending other people to follow his methods. I
think we may take it for granted that a method which has resulted in
four open championships may be considered good enough to follow.
Vardon, as we have seen, only subscribes to this notion inferentially,
and nobody could be more emphatic than he is with regard to the
distribution of force in the grip. His words "Ask any really
first-class player with what comparative tightness he holds the club
in his right and left hands, and I am confident that in nearly every
case he will declare that he holds it, nearly, if not quite, as
tightly with the right hand as with the left," present the case
exactly. Any man who plays golf properly will find it impossible to
tell you how he distributes the force of his grip on his club, and
what proportion of power the grip of the left bears to the right. As a
matter of fact, the man who plays golf properly has no time to think
of such nonsense as this. This is a matter which is regulated for him
by common sense and nature.
The trouble steps in when he is advised to interfere with the ordinary
course of Nature, and to put the left hand in a position of authority
which it has no right whatever to try to exercise. I say advisedly
"try" to exercise, because it never can exercise the power which it is
supposed to have. It stands to reason, therefore, that any attempt
whatever to make it exercise a power superior to the more powerful arm
must result in interfering with the proper functions of the hand and
arm which should be naturally in command of the stroke.
We have seen that James Braid in _Advanced Golf_ has quite altered the
opinions which he expresses in _How to Play Golf_, and he also agrees
that at the top of the swing, and until the stroke is played, it is
right to grip the club as hard as one can with both hands--in fact,
he says as plainly as it is possible for anyone to say anything, that
during the whole of the downward swing the muscles are in a state of
supreme tension, and fortunately he does not repeat the common error,
the error which he himself makes in _How to Play Golf_, of advising
the player to encumber his mind with any idea of regulating the
increase of speed of the club head.
Vardon puts the matter splendidly when he says:
Personally, I grip quite as firmly with the right hand as
with the other one. When the other way is adopted--the left
hand being tight and the right hand simply watching it, as it
were--there is an irresistible tendency for the latter to
tighten up suddenly at some part of the upward or downward
swing, and, as surely as there is a ball on the tee, when it
does so there will be mischief.
This is such an important statement that I must, in passing, emphasise
it, although I hope to deal with it again later on, for Vardon here
strikes a deadly blow to the absurd nonsense which most books lay down
about regulating the grip during the upward and downward swing. As
Vardon truly says, any attempt to apportion the respective power of
the grip of the left and right during the golf swing must inevitably
result in disaster, for there will unquestionably be, as he well
remarks, a pronounced tendency to tighten up at some part of the swing
in a jerky manner. The only way to guard against this is to be, as
James Braid says in _Advanced Golf_, in a state of supreme tension
from the moment the downward swing starts.
It must be remembered that Vardon himself advocates easing up with the
grip of the right at the top of the swing, although he says that he
grips as firmly with the right as the left. It stands to reason that
if Vardon does ease up with his right at the top of the swing, he
must during his downward stroke restore the balance of power. It seems
perfectly clear that in doing this there is a very great danger of
what he describes as an "irresistible tendency for the latter," that
is the right hand, "to tighten up suddenly."
I cannot see that, because Vardon starts with his grip equally firm
with each hand, and then relaxes the firmness of his grip with his
right hand at the top of the stroke, trusting to regain his firmness
by the time he has reached the ball again, he removes from his swing
the danger of the sudden tightening-up which he shows will threaten
the swing of anyone who attempts to let the left hand have the
predominant grip. It seems to me perfectly clear that this danger must
be even in Vardon's downward swing, but we know quite well that
Vardon, as a stroke player, is a genius, and that even if it is not a
danger for him, it would be for ninety-five of every hundred golfers.
The truth is, with regard to the golf grip, although none of the
leading professionals or authors are courageous enough to state it,
that for the ordinary golfer--aye, and even for the extraordinary
golfer--there is only one way to apportion the force of the left and
right in the grip, and that is _not to think about it at all when one
is doing it_, but to grip very firmly with both hands, and leave any
apportionment of force which may be necessary to Nature, and the
golfer who follows this advice and instruction will find that Nature
can attend to it infinitely better than he can.
In golf we frequently find that one fallacy is built up on another,
and it is quite an open question if the fallacy of the power of the
left hand and arm is not founded on another fallacy, namely, the
fallacy of the present overlapping grip. Now this sounds like rank
heresy, and I may as well say at once that I am not prepared to
assert that the present overlapping grip is a fallacy, but it is at
least open to argument if it is the best grip which can be taken of a
golf club.
There is no such thing as standing still in golf or any other
game--either we are progressing or we are going backwards. In golf,
notwithstanding the vast amount of false teaching which is published,
we are unquestionably advancing. It must not be thought from this that
it is of no importance that most of the matter which is published
about golf is entirely misleading, for that is not so. This misleading
matter is followed by an enormous army of golfers who are not able to
think out the matter for themselves, but there are a very great number
of golfers who absolutely disregard the published tuition of the
greatest experts in the world and play golf as it should be played,
and in no case is this more pronounced than in the persons of leading
professional golfers, for they write one thing, but do absolutely the
other themselves.
In the old days, when Vardon and all the other champions used the
two-handed grip, it would have been rank folly for any person other
than Vardon to have asserted that it was better to get the grip of the
right hand off the club, as the overlapping grip does to a very great
extent, but this grip was tried by Vardon, and it very soon became
almost universal. However, I think we are justified in asking if this
grip is undoubtedly the best that it is possible for us to get. Before
the overlapping grip became fashionable both hands had their full grip
on the shaft of the club, and in those days men played great golf, and
there are many of them who still play great golf with the same hold,
which they have refused to alter.
At page 194 of _Taylor on Golf_, speaking of the grip, Taylor says:
To sum up the matter, I should describe the orthodox manner
of gripping with the right in the following words: The
fingers must close around the club in such a way that
provision is made for the thumb to cover and cross the shaft,
the first joints of the fingers, providing this is done,
being just in sight. Nothing more or nothing less. This is
the grip generally accepted as being orthodox, and the one
generally favoured by the majority of those who decide to
follow up the game properly. But, as is the case with
everything which is favoured by any considerable number of
enthusiasts, there are those who, untrammelled by tradition,
break away and hold the club differently, with one hand at
least.
Take, as for instance, the case of Mr. John Ball, jun. This
gentleman--one of the leading golfers of the day--holds the
club firmly, not to say tightly, in the palm of his right
hand. Well, he has discovered that this does not
detrimentally affect his play, so I presume that may be taken
as a satisfactory proof that the orthodox way may sometimes
be departed from. Then, after Mr. Ball, I might mention the
name of Mr. Edward Blackwell. He is almost certainly the most
consistently good long driver we possess now, and his
unorthodox method of grip with the right hand has not
affected his play.
Taylor, of course, uses the overlapping grip, which is to-day the
orthodox grip.
Taylor speaks here of "those who, untrammelled by tradition, break
away and hold the club differently, with one hand at least," but it
seems to me that the two golfers quoted are not those who are breaking
away from the traditional hold. Rather does it seem to me that it is
we of the orthodox grip of to-day who have broken away from the best
traditions of golf, and taking best and best of those who have adopted
the modern grip and those who have maintained the old grip, there is
practically "nothing in it." Looking at the grip of men like Mr. H. H.
Hilton, Mr. John Ball, and Mr. Edward Blackwell, it would, I think,
to-day, require a person almost bereft of intelligence to imagine for
one moment that the power of the stroke in the play of these golfers
is obtained from their left arms and hands, and I do not suppose for a
single moment that any one of these players would dream of asserting
that he gets his length or direction from the left arm.
We are now confronted with the fact that one at least of these players
with the two-handed grip is at practically no disadvantage against the
best golfers in the world, and we must take it for granted in the face
of what we have said, that his power of stroke and his command thereof
is obtained from his right hand and arm. Now that being so, let us say
for the sake of argument that he desires to improve his play by
bringing the action of his wrists into greater harmony by adopting the
overlapping grip. Surely one is confronted with this question--should
one overlap the left hand with the right, or should one overlap the
right with the left. In the present overlap the left hand takes the
first grip of the club, and the right hand overlaps it, and in so
doing is taken, to a very great extent, off the shaft of the club.
The question now arises, Should not one first take one's grip with the
right hand, the dominant hand, the guiding hand, and the hand which is
operated by the stronger arm, and having got this grip, proceed to
overlap with the left, always allowing, of course, for the necessary
insertion of the thumb of the left between the shaft and the palm of
the right hand?
This may sound revolutionary, but I assure my readers that it is not
one half so revolutionary as the change from the old two-handed grip
to the present overlapping grip, for in that change the right hand
was, to a very great extent, deprived of its pride of place. I think
there is very little doubt that a player who became accustomed to the
right-handed grip with the left overlap, would find that he produced a
better game than he was able to do with the present overlapping grip.
The fact is that we are inclined to take a much too complimentary and
optimistic view of our exploits. Golf has now come to such a pass that
it is played almost perfectly by a few of the best players, so that we
have come to consider a five by a leading player as a serious lapse;
but we must not judge the great body of golfers by the perfect
players. These men would probably play very well under any conditions
which could exist in the game. We have to consider the greatest good
of the greatest number--in other words, the object of our search is to
ascertain and understand perfectly what is the best way, and although
I am stating this proposition with regard to the golf grip quite
tentatively, and am laying it down as a subject for argument, I have
very little doubt indeed that it will be found in the future that the
right-handed grip is the best grip for playing golf.
I think there is very little doubt that the most important change in
the next decade will be in the right hand and arm coming into their
kingdom. It need not be thought that this will happen in a day, or a
month, or a year. For very many years the great game of golf was
played, and was well and truly played by men who never dreamed of
putting part of one hand beneath the other--who would have scouted the
overlapping grip and the levering of the right hand off the shaft as
sacrilege--but some one introduced the idea, because it brought the
wrists closer together so that they worked more in harmony than with
the old grip. Harry Vardon tried it and found it good, and it went
into the game of golf and the history thereof.
And to see Vardon use it, one might well say, "What more can you
want?"; but that is not argument. Probably the one who asked that
question would have asked the same question had he seen Vardon playing
when he was using the old grip, when one wrist was fighting the other;
so we must not be deterred from our speculation, from peering into the
future. Of course, the essence of the overlapping grip is that it
reduces the conflict of the wrists, and so conduces to greater
accuracy and to less interference with the rhythm of the swing. It
stands to reason that in the old days of the two-handed grip this
conflict was worse than it would be now, for then the fetich of the
left had not been weakened, and it was a distressful thing to have a
hefty left in possession of the end of one's shaft and interfering
with the proper functions of the right in an unwarrantable manner.
Scientific golfers have, however, now come to the conclusion that the
right hand and arm are the dominant partners in the production of the
golf stroke, although there are many of the old school who still
pathetically retain and exhibit their allegiance to the old tradition
of the left being the master.
If we have established the fact that the right is the dominant factor
in the production of the drive, it seems to me that it follows quite
naturally that the place of honour on the shaft should be allotted to
it, and that it should be allowed the full grip, and not as it is at
present, pushed off the shaft so that the grip of the dominant hand is
practically reduced to that of the thumb and the first and second
fingers. If this point is conceded the right hand obtains the full
benefit of its undoubtedly superior power, for it obtains a firm and
natural grip, whereas the present overlapping grip is a most unnatural
hold and a difficult one for beginners to acquire, although very few
players who have once used it return to the old grip.
Not only is the proposed grip more solid and natural, and productive
of greater power and accuracy than the present overlapping grip, but
it unquestionably carries the main idea of the overlapping grip to its
logical conclusion, as it reduces the stroke much more to a one-wrist
shot than does the present grip.
There will always be found many people who are prepared to condemn
utterly anything which they do not understand. Some of these are sure
to exercise themselves on this subject, so I shall give them some
additional food for thought. Some time ago, a golfer who was capable
of removing Mr. John Ball from the Amateur Championship Competition,
lost his left thumb at the second joint. After his misfortune he took
to driving a much longer ball than he had been in the habit of doing
before his accident.
Now there must have been some reason for this. The only one which I
can suggest is that his accident put the right hand more into its
proper and natural place on the shaft than it had been before.
Curiosity led me to try to reproduce this grip as much as possible. I
used the ordinary overlapping grip, with the exception that I allowed
my thumb to remain out and to rest on the back of my right hand in a
line with the knuckle of the little finger. I was astonished to find
how closely it seemed to bring the wrists together. The injured golfer
would probably have the ideal golf grip if he overlapped his right
with his left forefinger instead of using the ordinary overlap, for he
would have a perfectly free and full right-hand grip, no interference
by the thumb of the left hand, and a natural overlap with the left
forefinger on the little finger of the right hand.
There is surely food for thought in these considerations, and I am
sure that many who take to golf late in life could do much better with
this grip and the short swing than they do with the grip which is most
in vogue, and with much striving after an exaggerated swing. It is not
wise for us to think that there is nothing to discover or to improve
on in the grip. There is in this suggestion much room for experiment
and argument, and unless I am very much mistaken we shall, in the
future, see the relative position of the hands on the shaft altered.
I may here refer again to the remarks made on the power of the left by
Mr. Horace Hutchinson. It will be remembered that he said:
Since, as will be shown later on, the club has to turn in the
right hand at a certain point in the swing, it should be held
lightly in the fingers, rather than in the palm, with that
hand. In the left hand it should be held well home in the
palm, and it is not to stir from this position throughout the
swing. It is the left hand, mainly, that communicates the
power of the swing; the chief function of the right hand is
as a guide in direction.
Notwithstanding Mr. Horace Hutchinson's statement with regard to the
function of the right hand, there is given on page 86 of the Badminton
_Golf_ an illustration entitled "At the top of the swing (as it should
be)." Here we see a player in about as ineffective a position for
producing a drive as one could possibly imagine, for the right elbow
is considerably above the player's head and is pointing skyward. It
would be an impossibility from such a position to obtain either
adequate guidance or power from the right hand, and it is a matter of
astonishment to find the name of such a fine player and good judge of
the game as Mr. Horace Hutchinson attached to an illustration which
must always be a classical illustration of "The top of the swing (as
it should _not_ be)."
We may here for the time being disregard the fundamentally unsound
position of the right arm, for Mr. Horace Hutchinson has apparently
altered his mind since, as we find him in _Great Golfers_ photographed
at the top of his swing with the right elbow in an entirely different
position. We see there clearly that he had come to realise the
importance of keeping his elbow well down and as much as possible in
the plane of force indicated by the swing and the shaft of the golf
club. These photographs are very interesting. Mr. Horace Hutchinson
says that the golf club "should be held well home in the [left] palm,
and it is not to stir from this position throughout the swing," yet at
the top of Mr. Horace Hutchinson's swing illustrated on page 296 of
_Great Golfers_ we see clearly that at the top of his swing the club
is barely held in the fingers of the left hand--as a matter of fact
the forefinger of the left hand is raised and the club is merely
resting in the three other fingers, which appear to be curved on to
the club and hardly exerting any pressure whatever.
It is abundantly clear from this photograph that Mr. Hutchinson, who
is the most pronounced adherent to the fetich of the left, is driving
his ball with a grip which is, to all intents and purposes, a
right-handed stroke. This photograph was taken in action and at the
rate of about one twelve-hundred-and-fiftieth of a second, so that
there cannot be much doubt as to the fact that Mr. Horace Hutchinson
is merely another exemplification of the fact that the golfers who
write for the public tell them one thing, while they themselves
practise another.
Before concluding this chapter on the power of the left, I may mention
that Mr. H. H. Hilton in Mr. John L. Low's book _Concerning Golf_,
subscribes to the idea of attempting to regulate the force of the
grips taken by the hands. He says on page 78 of that book:
When the main object of a shot is to obtain length, hold
tight with the left hand. The left hand will then do most of
the work in taking up the club. The right hand comes in on
the down swing to add force to the shot, and all parts of the
player's anatomy cohering together, the impetus will carry
his shoulders round, and unless he arbitrarily checks the
motion, he will finish his shot with his arms and club thrown
forcibly away from him; in short, he will have followed
through.
It will be seen that this fine player distinctly advises a stronger
grip with the left than with the right hand when one's object is
distance. In the drive the object, of course, generally is distance,
and we are distinctly advised by Mr. Hilton to play our stroke in a
manner which Harry Vardon has clearly laid down as almost certain to
lead to irretrievable disaster, for starting with a firm grip with our
left, which we are to put practically in command of the club on the
upward swing, we are then to bring the right into play "on the down
swing to add force to the shot."
It will be clearly seen here that Mr. Hilton is under the impression
that the left is performing the more important portion of the work,
for he speaks of the right hand as coming in to add force to the shot,
whereas, in fact, the main portion of the force is provided by the
right, and if there is any question of either hand and arm _adding_
force to the shot, that will be done by the left hand and arm, and not
by the right.
I do not think it is necessary for me to go any further in order to
show how deeply rooted and how widespread is this delusion about the
power of the left. It is another one of those pernicious fallacies
which absolutely strike at the root of the game of the great body of
golfers, and it is impossible for one to take too much trouble in
discrediting it to such an extent that it will soon be recognised as
not being practical golf.
I can hardly close this chapter better than by a quotation from a
letter received by me from the professional of an American club as far
afield as San Antonio, Texas. He writes:
It has taken me years of persistent effort to bury the many
prejudices against the proper use of the right arm, but they
must go, and I am glad to see you voiced sentiments strong
enough to make men stop and think over the situation. Let us
hope they will act.
CHAPTER VII
THE FUNCTION OF THE EYES
One of the commonest of the many excuses advanced for missing one's
drive is, "I lifted my eye." If the player only knew it he could lift
his eye with impunity. That is not what matters. It was lifting his
head which caused the trouble.
"Keep your eye on the ball" is, without question, the soundest of
sound golf maxims, but it is both abused and misused. We need not
waste time arguing the question as to whether or not keeping one's eye
on the ball at the moment of impact is absolutely essential to success
in driving. Every golfer knows that for all purposes of practical golf
one absolutely must keep one's eye on the ball, and that to do any
other thing with the eyes at the moment of striking the ball is, to
put it mildly, quite inconvenient.
The trouble in connection with lifting one's eye is that one's eyes
are in one's head. The seat of the machinery which works the golf
drive is in the same place. If one relaxes for a moment the mental
effort which has to be made whilst the golf stroke is being executed,
the eyes quite naturally wander in the direction in which the ball is
about to go. That in itself would not be so bad. The eyes
unfortunately do not wander without carrying the head with them. The
head is attached to the portion of the body where, roughly speaking,
the centre of the swing is situated. Immediately the head moves, the
centre of the circle, if it may for purposes of illustration be so
called, is affected. Hopeless inaccuracy is the result. It is a matter
of the most vital importance in golf that the eyes must not move.
Keeping the eyes in the one position from the moment when one has
finally addressed the ball until the moment of impact practically
ensures the proper management of one's weight; for it stands to reason
that if the eyes do not move it is impossible for the head to move,
and if the head does not move it will be impossible to sway, and
therefore to get the weight on to the right leg at the top of the
swing, as do so many golfers who follow the misleading directions
given with regard to the distribution of weight in the golf drive.
Keeping one's head perfectly still is a matter of far greater
importance than keeping one's eye on the ball; for it will be obvious
that it is quite possible for a golfer, after having taken his
address, to keep his eye on the ball until he has driven it, but he
may in the meantime have lifted his head three or four inches. Lifting
his head three or four inches will not have caused him to take his eye
off the ball for an instant, but it will have been sufficient to have
ruined his drive. Therefore, we see that the really important thing is
to keep one's head and eyes in the same position for the impact as
they were at the moment of address. When I say the same position it is
manifest that there will be a fractional alteration, but it must be
the aim of the scientific golfer to have his eyes, at the moment of
impact, almost exactly in the same position as they were at the moment
of address.
Keeping one's eyes steady in this manner means, as has already been
pointed out, that one preserves the centre, if it may be so called, of
the swing much better than if one allows one's weight to move from one
leg to the other. Preserving the centre of the swing in this manner
means that the rhythm of the swing must be very much better than if it
has a moving "centre." A moving centre must import into the stroke of
any golfer far greater inaccuracy than there would be if his centre
had remained constant, as it will do if he keeps his head in the same
place.
Some time ago a good professional golfer asserted that the well-known
maxim "Keep your eye on the ball" was a delusion, and that it was
possible to play perfectly good golf blindfolded, provided one had
first taken one's stance and judged one's swing at the ball. In due
course a match was arranged between this professional, blindfolded,
and an amateur, and the professional was very badly beaten, as he did
not, I believe, win a single hole. This result naturally tended to
discredit his ideas very considerably.
As a matter of practical golf, what he wished to establish is
perfectly correct. Although "Keep your eye on the ball" is the
soundest of sound practical golf, it is to a very large extent
preached in a manner which is in itself entirely fallacious--for two
reasons: Firstly, the player is told that it is absolutely essential
to his stroke that he must keep his eye on the ball up to the moment
of impact, and not only must he keep it there until the moment of
impact, but that he should keep on gazing at the turf where the ball
had lain after the ball has gone on its way.
Now our professional golfer, who essayed the task of playing
blindfolded golf, was perfectly correct in stating that it is not
necessary to keep one's eye on the ball in playing golf, for the
simple reason that the eye has fulfilled its function and has gone
out of business, so far as regards that stroke, long before the head
of the club has come into contact with the ball. It is this fact which
makes us so prone to lift our eyes, and with them our heads, which of
course is fatal to good golf. I go so far as to say that if Vardon in
his drive could be automatically blindfolded when his club was two
feet from his ball, and that he could accustom himself to keeping his
head still after he was blindfolded, it would not affect his drive in
the slightest degree, for the very simple and all-sufficient reason
that the eye has finished its function in connection with the golf
stroke for a very considerable period before impact takes place. It
has assisted the golfer to take his proper stance and address, and has
aided him in judging his distance, but the arc of the golf stroke is
practically settled almost from the instant that it starts on its
downward path.
The duration of impact in a drive at golf has been measured by the
most competent authority to be one ten-thousandth of a second.
Photographs of the impact of the golf club with the golf ball taken at
the one twelve-hundred-and-fiftieth of a second, are merely blurs.
There is no clear definition of the club whatever. We can see from
this that the rate of speed at which the golf club is travelling is
extreme, even had we not the scientific measurement of the exact
amount of time consumed during the contact. It will be obvious to a
very ordinary understanding that when a club is travelling at this
terrific pace it would be impossible for anyone to impart into the
line of travel of the club head a new direction at, say, two feet from
the ball, without ruining both the force and the direction of the
ball. Therefore, it is evident that if one could close one's eyes when
the club head was two feet from the ball and still keep one's head in
exactly the same position, the impact would be practically not
affected at all.
This is the undoubted fact in so far as regards the work of the eye.
It fulfils its duty very early in the stroke; but although the
explanation of the function of the eye is so incorrectly given, still
"Keep your eye on the ball" is, and ever will be, a sound golfing
maxim, for it is not given to golfing man to be able to lift his eye
and at the same time to keep his mind concentrated on his stroke, and
to keep his head in the same place as it was in when he addressed his
ball. Therefore, although it is not so absolutely necessary to keep
one's eye on the ball as is generally laid down, it is expedient to
preach to the fullest extent and to insist on what Harry Vardon calls
"the parrot cry of the links."
Most writers who deal with the matter of keeping one's eye on the ball
are not satisfied with exhorting the player to keep his eye on the
ball until after the moment of impact; they go further still and
insist upon the fact that he must continue to gaze at the piece of
turf whereon the ball lay, long after the ball has departed to the
hole. This, again, is an absolute fallacy. It is only excusable on the
principle that the greater includes the less, and that by insisting on
one gazing at the turf long after the ball has sped on its way, one
may be able to make the player do what he should do, and that is just
to keep his eye on the ball until the moment of impact, for if we
follow the advice given by many notable men of continuing to gaze at
the turf after the ball has been driven, there can be no doubt
whatever that we do much to spoil the rhythm and effectiveness of the
drive.
To preserve these we have been told that the head must be kept
immovable throughout the golf drive, and that one must keep one's eye
on the ball until it has been driven, and on the place where it was
after it has been driven. However, following Vardon's explanation of
the drive and taking what we know of this stroke ourselves, it will be
remembered that at the moment of impact, "simultaneously," Vardon
says, the body moves down the line of flight to the hole. It follows,
therefore, that if one continues turf-gazing after one has hit the
ball, that one's body is going on its way towards the hole whilst
one's head is being held backward in the opposite direction to the
travel of the body. This is absolutely bad golf, and Vardon does not
do this himself.
The truth with regard to the proper management of the eye in the golf
stroke is that it should move simultaneously with the ball, for if
there be any attempt whatever to drive the ball and to keep the head
in the same position as it was at the moment of address, this will
inevitably result in preventing the right shoulder getting through and
the body following it as it ought to do, for a rigid head and neck
will prevent any follow-through.
Vardon is very explicit about the value of timing the body so that it
goes forward down the line of flight towards the hole at the moment
the stroke is made. He shows us, as a matter of fact, that this
forward movement is practically simultaneous with the impact of the
club on the ball. It will be obvious, then, to anyone, that this
turf-gazing after one has hit the ball, which is recommended by the
leading authorities of the game, is absolutely bad golf, for it must
inevitably interfere with the follow-through.
At page 174 of _The Complete Golfer_ Vardon says:
Keep your eye on the ball until you have hit it, but no
longer. You cannot follow through properly with a long shot
if your eye remains fastened on the ground. Hit the ball and
then let your eye pick it up in its flight as quickly as
possible. Of course this needs skilful timing and management,
but precision will soon become habitual.
It was by the merest chance that I saw this passage after I had
written my chapter on "The Function of the Eyes," although I am now
incorporating it herein.
I am very glad to have Vardon's authority to back me up in
discrediting the silly idea about turf-studying; but although I have
him with me I cannot hold him guiltless of spreading the error, for he
has been photographed _repeatedly_ illustrating it in a style which he
never uses in actual play. This may be seen in the series of
photographs in _Fry's Magazine_ already referred to, and also at pages
89 and 97 of _Great Golfers_, wherein this great player is shown in
positions which in actual play he would not understand how to get
into; but people who know no better, and have not the real power of
comparative analysis and close thinking, are led away and suffer for
this kind of foolishness merely because it is associated with a great
name.
[Illustration: PLATE VIII. EDWARD RAY
This plate shows the champion's tremendous finish in the
drive. Ray, at the top of his stroke, gets much of his weight
on his right foot, but does not advise others to do so.]
In connection with this matter of the function of the eye there is an
interesting point which I have not seen mentioned in any golf book--a
point which makes it, if anything, more necessary for one to insist
upon the vast importance of the maxim "Keep your eye on the ball,"
although it is fallaciously preached both before and after impact.
This point is that there is just before impact a very considerable
portion of the travel of the head of the golf club during which the
ball is practically never seen by the golfer. This is what I may
call the golfer's "blind spot." It exists in practically all ball
games where the ball is struck by a bat or other implement of that
kind. Its existence, of course, is well known in cricket. I have
played lawn-tennis for twenty years, and I do not believe that I have
at any time during that period seen my racket hit the ball when
actually playing. I have seen it do it when I have made up my mind to
watch the ball and forget other matters, but in actual play one does
not do this. One plays the stroke with the utmost naturalness. The
ball is coming towards one and one gauges the distance and strikes.
One knows that whatever happens one's stroke is made for good or ill,
and there is in many strokes a blind spot of fully six to nine inches
in length.
I have had some wonderful photographs of this blind spot wherein it is
shown most clearly that the lawn-tennis player is looking right away
from his ball long before he has struck it. I think it is beyond
question that this same blind spot exists in golf. I have no doubt
whatever that, perfect player as he is, there is in Harry Vardon's
stroke a blind spot of at least five inches. Few people who have not
studied this question can realise the incredible rapidity with which
the head of a golf club travels. I am well aware that there are many
photographs of Harry Vardon in existence, which show him carefully
studying the turf after the ball has gone on its way. I am also well
aware that these photographs were taken to illustrate the fact that he
does engage in turf-studying after the ball has gone on its way. I am
also well aware that in actual play he does nothing of the kind, and
that his beautiful, free, and natural finish is as different from the
stiff and constrained photographs shown when he does not lift his
head, as chalk is from cheese.
I have watched Harry Vardon many and many a time, and I am absolutely
certain that in his natural play he has no thought whatever in his
mind of gazing at the turf after his ball has gone away. There is
nothing whatever to be gained by doing so, and there is much to be
lost. Any attempt whatever to anchor the head by gazing at the turf
after the ball has gone away, and then afterwards to allow it to
resume its place, together with the shoulders, in the swing of the
follow-through, is mere futility, and must result in absolutely
spoiling the rhythm of the swing and a proper follow-through.
There is no player in the world who could be taken as a finer example
than Harry Vardon, of the fact that in the golf swing and at the
moment of impact there must be no restraint whatever on the movement
of the shoulders and the head. They must work together with the club
head and the ball. If they do not all move at the same time something
is out of gear.
In the game of blindfolded golf which I have referred to, the
professional player took his stance, addressed his ball, and was then
blindfolded with a handkerchief, an operation which naturally took
some considerable time, but even as it was, he played some
astonishingly good shots even when his whole swing was blindfolded. He
should have had a pair of spectacles lined with cotton wadding or some
similar material and fastened with an elastic band, which could have
been lifted up whilst he was taking his address and closed down the
moment he was ready to make his stroke. This would have given him a
better chance to demonstrate what he desired to, which, as I have
already said, was in itself practically sound.
I have spoken of Harry Vardon's blind spot, and I have said that it is
a matter of five inches. As a matter of fact it may quite well often
be double that; but it seems to me perfectly plain that nothing
whatever that Vardon can do when his club is within a foot of the
ball, so long as he keeps his head steady or still, is likely to alter
the path of the club head--I am speaking now, of course, of any normal
golf stroke. This consideration of the matter brings us back to the
statement which I have made time and time again, and in which I am
supported by James Braid, that once the golf stroke is commenced, the
fact of it connecting with the ball is merely an incident in the path
of the club head; and that after the club head has proceeded a certain
distance on the way to the ball it is beyond the power of the player
to alter the character of that stroke, for his force has been
irretrievably directed, in so far as regards that particular stroke,
in a particular manner.
Speaking of the position of the head in driving, Taylor says:
The head is maintained in exactly the same position as the
arms are brought down again, and so it remains until the ball
has been swept from the tee. The arms and body for all
practical purposes go through the same action, but in the
reverse way as in the upward swing, the body being held in a
similar position, but with the head turned and eyes looking
over the right shoulder at the finish of the stroke.
During the progress of this downward movement the weight of
the body is again transferred, passing from the right leg to
the left, until when the finish arrives the whole of the
weight has been placed upon the left foot, while the right
has assumed the position previously held by its neighbour.
We see here in a very marked degree the fallacy of the distribution of
the weight so that at the top of the swing the greater portion of it
is on the right leg; for Taylor, although he tells us that "the head
is maintained in exactly the same position," says that "during the
progress of this downward movement the weight of the body is again
transferred, passing from the right leg to the left."
It is a very natural question for us to ask, "How can all this
shifting of the body be going on if the head is to be kept perfectly
still?" As a matter of fact it is a physical impossibility; and it is
also obvious that it would be impossible to keep the head still,
rigidly fixed, as we are told it should be, at the moment of impact,
and yet to get a true follow-through.
Let us read a little farther on, and we see that Taylor says: "If the
ball has been struck there must be no semblance of checking or
snatching at the club. The player must not check himself or allow
premonitory symptoms of a check to make themselves felt even in the
slightest degree. He must allow the club head to follow the line of
flight of the ball as straight and as far as is possible." It stands
to reason that if one's head remains fixed for an instant after the
impact of the club with the ball, that instant the club head must feel
the tendency to be drawn out of the straight line to the hole, and the
follow-through down the line to the hole, which is so properly
insisted on by all great golfers, is ruined.
Taylor continues: "The arms must be thrown forward freely and
naturally, and as a consequence the right shoulder must be allowed to
swing forward too." This should effectually dispose of the idea of
holding the head still after the ball has left the ground, for the
simple reason that if the head and neck be held still, it will be a
matter of utter impossibility for the right shoulder to go through and
down the line to the hole as it should.
I must emphasise this matter a little more strongly by Taylor's own
words, for it is of very great importance in the golf drive.
Continuing, he says, in reference to the fact that the arms must be
allowed to go forward freely and naturally and that therefore the
right shoulder must be allowed to swing forward:
By doing this the involuntary checking of the swing is
rendered impossible; but if arms and shoulders were to be
held tightly under control and as rigid as steel, the stroke
would be finished as soon as the head of the club had been
brought into contact with the ball. Every stroke in golf must
be played freely, every muscle of the body must be allowed to
do its full share of the necessary work.
That is undoubtedly so; but if one arbitrarily fixes the position of
one's head as a stationary point in the golf swing after the ball has
gone on its journey, one prevents the right leg doing its share of the
work in shifting the weight forward down the line towards the hole,
and therefore one, to a very great extent, ruins one's follow-through.
This is a point which, in my mind, is of very great importance to the
drive, and it is, in so far as regards the function of the eyes, one
of the most pronounced fallacies of the many fallacious statements
with which unfortunate golfers are loaded.
This blind spot which I have referred to, exists, as I have already
said, in practically every game wherein the ball is struck with an
implement. It is found in lacrosse, racquets, tennis, cricket,
lawn-tennis, polo, base-ball, hockey, ping-pong, and even in
billiards; but the probability is that the farther the striking
surface of the club or other implement is from the eye, the less is
the blind spot; and this is very fortunate for the golfer, for his
margin of error is so small that it is of great importance to him to
reduce this blind spot to a negligible quantity. But on the other
hand, as a matter of scientific and accurate golf, he will make nearly
as great a mistake in his golf if, in his endeavour to follow out the
well-known and useful maxim, "Keep your eye on the ball," he acquires
the habit of turf-gazing after the ball has gone on its way to the
hole.
I have before had occasion to refer to the book entitled _The Mystery
of Golf_, and I have already, in part, touched upon some of the
author's curious ideas with regard to the analysis of the golfing
stroke. At page 159 he tells us that "the arms do not judge distance
(save when we are actually touching something) nor does the body, nor
does the head. The judging is done by the eyes." I am afraid that we
cannot deny that the judging is, in all cases, done by the eye,
because it is obvious that if we had not the use of our eyes, we
should not be able to see the ball; but the author seems to overlook
the somewhat important fact that although the arms do not judge
distance, yet they _measure_ it, and this matter of measurement is a
matter of extreme importance, as is exemplified in the case of play
out of a bunker where one has to measure the distance without
grounding the club.
On the same page the author says: "If the eyes look up before the ball
is hit, the muscles do not receive the proper orders to hit, and the
most important part of the stroke is done blindly. That is my theory";
and a most remarkable theory it is too. The muscles received their
proper orders to hit at the moment the stroke was begun, and lifting
the eyes a moment before impact would not affect the stroke if the
head remained in the same position. Lifting the eyes is in nearly
every case, as I have already pointed out, an action following on
lifting the mind. The mind has been allowed to come off the stroke
because the player's mental picture of the stroke has been completed
long before the physical act. In other words, he has got ahead of his
stroke. Then his head comes up, which of course is fatal to good
golf.
It is a very remarkable circumstance that the attempted analysis by
the author of _The Mystery of Golf_ shows clearly that he has entered
upon his task with but a very faint idea of sport generally, and he is
in this respect much handicapped in his efforts. Let us consider what
he has to say with regard to lifting the eye in golf. We read on page
164:
I have sometimes thought that there are two simple and
especial reasons for this difficulty of keeping one's eye on
the ball: first, because there is nothing to stimulate the
attention; second, because one has to attend so long. In
cricket, tennis, racquets, as I have shown, the stimulus is
extreme; by consequence, your eye follows the ball like a
hawk. In billiards there is no stimulus, but you rarely, if
ever, take your eye off your ball in billiards. Why? I think
because (1) the ball is so near to the eye--and, therefore,
the stimulus strong; (2) because the period of time requisite
for the stroke is so short. In golf there is no stimulus and
the period is always long: you have to look at your ball for
more than the whole period of the upward and downward swings.
This remarkable statement shows very clearly, as I have before said,
that the author is not practically acquainted with games generally,
for lifting the eye is common in practically every game where a ball
is used. And it is amazing to find anyone attempting to analyse such a
stroke as the golf stroke and at the same time making the statement
that "you rarely, if ever, take your eye off your ball in billiards";
and he proceeds to give reasons why one rarely takes one's eye off
one's ball in billiards, whereas the game of billiards is an
outstanding illustration of the fact that one does take one's eye off
the ball. To a very great extent one plays one's stroke at billiards
with a most pronounced blind spot every time, in that, just prior to
the moment of striking the cue ball, one always looks at the object
ball and practically one never sees one's cue on to one's own ball.
Also, it is open to doubt if the golf stroke takes, on the average,
from the time the club leaves the ball in its upward swing until the
moment of impact, any longer than the billiard player takes in playing
his stroke. If it does, the difference is not a matter which need
enter into any practical comparison of the strokes.
The curious thing is that in the game instanced by the author as
possessing the greater stimulus, that is those games wherein the ball
is moving, as in cricket, tennis, racquets, the tendency to lift the
eye from the ball is much more pronounced than in those games where
the ball is stationary, and this, I think, is by no means unnatural.
The operation of the eye is incredibly swift. It catches the flight of
the oncoming ball and one plays the stroke to meet it. In playing a
stroke at a moving ball, it stands to reason that one has, all other
things being equal, less time between the beginning of the stroke and
impact than one would have in executing a similar blow where the ball
is stationary, for here we have merely the pace of one moving object
to deal with, whereas we have in the other case the pace of the two
moving objects added together.
It seems to me clear, therefore, that the eye has been able to
ascertain much more rapidly what will happen in the case of the two
moving objects, and having decided definitely that the stroke must be
played in a certain way, the mind has given to the muscles the
necessary orders, and the eye has then gone out of business so far as
regards that particular stroke, and we get the astonishing result that
we find famous players at lawn-tennis playing their strokes with a
blind spot of, in many cases, as much as nine inches. This is beyond
the region of doubt, and can be proved to demonstration by numerous
photographs, so it will be seen that even if there were anything
whatever in the suggested comparisons, they are fundamentally unsound
in their premises, and therefore absolutely useless for any purposes
of practical golf.
We are told at page 166: "If you _don't_ keep your eye on the ball,
your stroke is cut short the moment you take your eye off." This is
obviously an error. Let us imagine that the golfer has played his
stroke perfectly accurately up to within three inches of his ball and
then takes his eye away from it, will any practical golfer believe
that if he keeps his head still the fact of moving his eye is going to
alter that stroke in any way whatever? I think not.
Again we are informed at page 167 that: "It is at all events
indisputable that any photograph showing a good follow-through shows
the player looking at the spot where the ball was, after the ball had
left it; proving that he was really looking at the ball when he hit."
Personally, I may say that I have never yet seen a photograph of a
good follow-through which did show the player looking at the spot
where the ball was after the ball had left it, for photographs of that
nature which I have seen showed most clearly that if one desires to
absolutely prevent oneself from following through, one of the best
methods of doing it is to cultivate the habit of studying the turf
after the ball has gone on its way to the hole.
In this we know that we have Vardon entirely with us. His
corroboration is valuable for the point is of great and practical
importance to the game.
CHAPTER VIII
THE MASTER STROKE
In his chapter on "Special Strokes with Wooden Clubs" Vardon discusses
the question of the master stroke in golf. At page 86 of _The Complete
Golfer_ he says:
Which, then, is the master stroke? I say that it is the ball
struck by any club to which a big pull or slice is
intentionally applied for the accomplishment of a specific
purpose which could not be achieved in any other way, and
nothing more exemplifies the curious waywardness of this game
of ours than the fact that the stroke which is the
confounding and torture of the beginner who does it
constantly, he knows not why, but always to his detriment,
should later on at times be the most coveted shot of all and
should then be the most difficult of accomplishment. I call
it the master shot, because to accomplish it with any
certainty and perfection, it is so difficult, even to the
experienced golfer, because it calls for the most absolute
command over the club and every nerve and sinew of the body,
and the courageous heart of the true sportsman whom no
difficulty may daunt, and because, when properly done, it is
a splendid thing to see, and for a certainty results in
material gain to the man who played it.
Here we have a very definite statement by one of the greatest stroke
players in the world, that the master stroke at golf is "the ball
struck by any club to which a big pull or slice is intentionally
applied for the accomplishment of a specific purpose which could not
be achieved in any other way."
It is to me a most extraordinary thing to find a golfer of the ability
of Harry Vardon classing the pull and the slice as practically equal
in order of merit. Anyone who is acquainted with golf must know that
the pull is an infinitely more difficult stroke to play correctly than
the slice. The slice is a stroke which is comparatively easy, but no
one can truthfully say the same thing of the pull.
Before we proceed to a consideration of the question of the master
stroke, it will be interesting to quote what Taylor has to say on the
subject. At page 88 of _Taylor on Golf_ he says:
Still it is not advisable, neither do I look upon it as being
golf in the truest sense of the word, for the knack of
pulling or slicing to be cultivated, as I am afraid it is by
a great many players. No compromise should be made with a
fault.
Here we see that what Harry Vardon regards as the master strokes of
the game, are looked upon by Taylor as faults.
I may say at the outset that I am not inclined to agree with Vardon at
all in this matter of the master stroke in golf. If there is one
stroke which stands out above and beyond all others in its demand for
accuracy, and a perfect knowledge of the method of applying spin, also
a supreme ability perfectly to apply that knowledge, it is the stroke
which is commonly called a "wind-cheater"; that is to say a long low
ball which flies very close to the earth for the greater portion of
its journey, and rises towards the end of its flight to its greatest
height.
Although this ball is called the wind-cheater, it is just as effective
and just as useful on a perfectly still day as it is against a
howling gale, for this stroke is, in my opinion, without any doubt
whatever, the master stroke in golf, and if a man has this stroke he
should be very willing to allow anybody else to have all the pulls and
slices in golf. The supreme importance of this stroke is so pronounced
that I have always wondered at the comparatively unimportant position
which has been given to it in every book on golf, with the exception
of my own works. Pulling and slicing, as golfing shots, may be said to
be practically unnecessary if a man has full command of the plain
drive without back-spin and the wind-cheater.
Very frequently when a man is called upon to pull or to slice, it is
to remedy a previous error, and there can be no doubt that with the
pull and the slice it is an utter impossibility to keep on the line in
the same manner as can one who uses back-spin in the drive. The secret
of the greatest golf of the future lies, in my opinion, in the proper
application of back-spin in the drive.
I do not intend here to go fully into the effect of spin on the flight
of the ball, as I shall do that at length in my chapter on "The Flight
of the Golf Ball." Suffice it to say that the tremendous advantage of
the ball with back-spin is, that being hit as the club is descending,
and the hands at the time of impact with the ball being a little in
front of the ball, the loft of the club is, to a certain extent,
minimised, so that the ball is, in effect, struck with a club which
has much less loft than would be the case if it were driven in the
ordinary manner. This means that for the first part of the carry, the
flight of the ball is very low, and as the club was not at the lowest
portion of the swing when it struck the ball, the wind-cheater
acquires a large amount of back-spin which asserts itself later on,
and causes the ball to reach the highest point in its trajectory
towards the end of its flight.
One of the greatest of the many merits of this ball is that the method
of producing it almost commands a follow-through down the intended
line of flight. This in itself tends to give better direction than any
of the ordinary golf strokes. The pull and the slice, as is well
known, curve very much in their flight, and especially in a wind. It
is utterly impossible for the best golfer in the world to say within
twenty yards as regards direction, and that, of course, means much
more than twenty yards--in fact, practically double that--where the
ball will come to rest; but this is not so with the wind-cheater, for
although the ball has been sent on its way with a very heavy
back-spin, so much of it has been exhausted in lifting the ball at the
end of its flight, that by the time the ball strikes the earth there
is little, if any, retarding power in the back-spin, so that the ball
is frequently a very good runner. I must, however, devote a little
attention here to the method of production of the pull and the slice.
There is a wonderful amount of misconception about these strokes, even
in the minds of the greatest golfers. Let me, before I proceed to
examine what Harry Vardon has to say about the production of the pull,
state the general principles upon which the production of all spin is
produced. Spin is imparted to a golf ball, as we shall see more
clearly later on, merely by the fact that the face of the club,
instead of following through after the ball in the intended line of
flight, crosses the line of flight at a more or less acute angle; for
the slice the club head comes from the far side of the line of flight
across towards the player's side of the line of flight; for the pull
the process is reversed, and the club head, coming from the player's
side, swings right out across the line of flight; in the wind-cheater
the club passes downwards along the intended line of flight. There is,
of course, no such thing in practical golf as top-spin, so we need not
consider that.
There is one other important point which I must mention here. At the
moment of impact the face of the club must be, to all intents and
purposes, at a right angle to the intended line of flight. For
instance, in a slice, any attempt to produce the slice by laying back
the toe of the club, or any tricks of this nature, must result in
disaster. It is impossible for the person playing the stroke _to time_
anything to be done by him _during impact_, and it stands to reason
that nothing will affect the ball except what takes place during
impact. This, then, resolves the stroke into the fact that the contact
between the ball and the club is, as I have frequently insisted, and,
as we have seen, James Braid declares, merely an incident in the
travel of the club's head in the arc which it is describing.
Although I have said that the face of the club must be at a right
angle to the line of flight of the ball, this is not exactly correct,
although it is so for all purposes of practical golf. The reason I say
that it is not correct, is that practically every well played slice
starts off on the line to the hole a little to the left of the true
line of flight, so that it is probable that at the moment of impact
the face of the club is not at a dead right angle to the initial
portion of the flight of the ball. However, it is unquestionably
necessary that the face of the club should be as nearly as possible at
a right angle to the intended line of flight at the moment that the
impact takes place. If this point is not attended to as carefully in
the pull and the slice as it is in other strokes, the result must be
inaccuracy of direction, and very pronounced inaccuracy too.
Let us now turn to Harry Vardon's directions as to how to play the
pull. He says:
Now there is the pulled ball to consider, for surely there
are times when the making of such a shot is eminently
desirable. Resort to a slice may be unsatisfactory, or it may
be entirely impossible, and one important factor in this
question is that the pulled ball is always much longer than
the other--in fact, it has always so much length in it that
many players in driving in the ordinary way from the tee, and
desiring only to go straight down the course, systematically
play for a pull and make allowances for it in their
direction.
He then gives instructions for the stance, and proceeds:
The obvious result of this stance is that the handle of the
club is in front of the ball, and this circumstance must be
accentuated by the hands being held even slightly more
forward than for an ordinary drive. Now they are held forward
in front of the head of the club. In the grip there is
another point of difference. It is necessary that in the
making of this stroke the right hand should do more work than
the left, and therefore the club should be held rather more
loosely by the left hand than by its partner.
We may pause for a moment here to remark that this is another one of
those very noticeable instances wherein Vardon infers that it is usual
for the left to do more work than the right, and we may also note that
he here gives advice which he has in other portions of his book
condemned--that is, attempting to hold more loosely with one hand than
with the other, for it is obvious that if, as he has told us will be
the case, we attempt to give the right hand a watching brief over the
left, the right will come in too suddenly at some portion of the
swing, and it is also equally obvious that if we follow out Vardon's
advice here and allow the left to hold the watching brief, it will
similarly misconduct itself.
I must emphasise again, before I pass on, the very pronounced
inference which Vardon here makes that, generally speaking, the left
is the dominant partner. Vardon then continues: "The latter," that is
the right hand, "will duly take advantage of this slackness," that is
the slackness of the left hand, "and will get in just the little extra
work that is wanted of it. In the upward swing carry the club head
just along the line which it would take for an ordinary drive."
This, I may say, is remarkable advice, for it is well known that in
playing the pull the club head begins to move away from the ball,
inwards, the moment it is lifted from the ground. This, of course, is
natural, for generally speaking, the club goes back to the ball in the
way in which it comes up, and as the ball is played by an outward
glancing blow, it stands to reason that it will not be taken back
straight from the ball as Vardon states here. That, however, is by the
way.
Let us now continue with what Vardon has to say:
The result of all this arrangement, and particularly of the
slackness of the left hand and comparative tightness of the
right, is that there is a tendency in the downward swing for
the face of the club to turn over to some extent, that is,
for the top edge of it to be overlapping the bottom edge.
This is exactly what is wanted, for, in fact, it is quite
necessary that at the moment of impact the right hand should
be beginning to turn over in this manner, and if the stroke
is to be a success the golfer must see that it does so, but
the movement must be made quite smoothly and naturally, for
anything in the nature of a jab, such as is common when too
desperate efforts are made to turn over an unwilling club,
would certainly prove fatal.
We have here Vardon's description of how to obtain a pulled ball which
he regards as one of the master strokes of the game, but his
conception of this stroke is absolutely erroneous. We are told by
Vardon that in making this stroke "in the upward swing" we are to
carry the club head just along the line which it would take for an
ordinary drive. Now, at page 88, Vardon refers to "the inflexible rule
that as the club head goes up so will it come down."
It is now established beyond any doubt whatever that the pull is
played by an outwardly glancing blow, the converse of the inwardly
glancing blow of the slice, but if to obtain a pull we are to follow
Vardon's advice and take the club straight back away from the ball,
how are we going to come back by the same track as we went up, which
is straight down the line of flight, and at the same time to obtain an
outwardly glancing blow? The thing is a manifest impossibility, and,
as a matter of fact, is not practical golf. This idea of turning over
the wrists at the moment of impact is an utterly erroneous notion
which I must deal with somewhat more fully. I shall show that James
Braid originally had this idea himself, but that he has now, in all
probability, abandoned it.
It is evident that Vardon has but a hazy idea of the correct method of
production of the pull, although, as we well know, he is a master of
the art of producing this stroke. At page 92 of _The Complete Golfer_
he gives his description of the manner in which he thinks one of the
master strokes of the game is produced. I must quote him again fully,
for it is necessary to do this in order that my readers may follow the
trend of his mind:
It is necessary that in the making of this stroke the right
hand should do more work than the left, and therefore the
club should be held rather more loosely by the left hand than
by its partner. The latter will duly take advantage of this
slackness, and will get in just the little extra work that is
wanted of it. In the upward swing carry the club head just
along the line which it would take for an ordinary drive. The
result of all this arrangement, and particularly the
slackness of the left hand and comparative tightness of the
right is, that there is a tendency in the downward swing for
the face of the club to turn over to some extent, that is for
the top edge of it to be overlapping the bottom edge. This is
exactly what is wanted, for, in fact, it is quite necessary
that at the moment of impact the right hand should be
beginning to turn over in this manner, and if the stroke is
to be a success the golfer must see that it does so.
It will be seen from this quotation that Vardon is under the
impression that in playing the pull the club goes straight back from
the ball in the same manner as it would be taken were one playing an
ordinary drive. We notice, too, that he commits himself to the
statement, that it is necessary that the top edge of the face of the
club should be practically overlapping the bottom at the moment of
impact. This, in effect, means that the club is actually deprived of
its loft at the moment of impact.
It will be apparent to anyone who understands very little about the
ordinary principles of mechanics that it would be an impossibility to
play an effective shot in this manner. Indeed it would be impossible
to raise the ball from the ground, and any attempt whatever to give
this turn over of the wrists at the moment of impact would inevitably
result in a very large proportion of foundered balls.
It must be remembered that Vardon is advising the player to
consciously attempt to regulate the loft of his club during an impact
which lasts for no more than the ten-thousandth of a second. Golf is
at all times a game calling for a remarkable degree of mechanical
accuracy, but it is obviously asking, even of the most perfect player,
far too much when we request that he shall, by the action of his hands
and wrists, regulate the loft of his club in an impact which lasts for
such an extremely short time. We must remember that if the shot were
played as Vardon describes it, the loft of the club face is
continually changing during, let us say, the foot before it gets to
the ball and the foot after it has passed it.
The whole idea of the stroke in golf, in so far as regards loft, ought
to be that at the moment of impact the player has nothing whatever to
do with the loft, his duty being confined to hitting the ball in a
certain way and allowing the loft to do its own work, and to take the
angle at which it will naturally come down, but any attempt
consciously to regulate the loft of the club during impact, especially
on the lines laid down by Vardon, must inevitably result in disaster.
Vardon tells us that at the moment of impact it is necessary that the
club face should be turning so that it will be practically overlapping
at least the moment after the ball is struck.
His error is by no means an uncommon one. The same thing exists in
lawn-tennis in the lifting drive, where about ninety per cent of the
players who try the lifting drive under the impression that it is got
by a turn over of the wrist, do the turn too soon and founder the
ball--in other words, put it into the net. If the pull were to be
played in the way Vardon describes it, the result would be exactly the
same. The ball would simply be topped or absolutely foundered.
I cannot emphasise too strongly the fact that this turn over of the
wrists in the pull has nothing whatever to do with the production of
the stroke, although Vardon says that it has. This turn over of the
wrists will, if it precedes the moment of impact, ruin the stroke. It
must come naturally long after the ball has gone on its way, and it
must come not by any voluntary or conscious effort on the part of the
player, but as the natural result of the correctly played first
portion of the stroke.
In my chapter on "The Flight of the Ball," I shall go more fully into
the mechanical principles of the production of the pull. It will be
sufficient for me to say here that the pull is produced by an upward,
outward, glancing blow, but there must be no attempt whatever to alter
the loft of the club at the moment of impact.
In so flatly contradicting such a master of stroke play as Harry
Vardon, it may be as well for me to fortify myself by evidence taken
from the work and photographs of another famous golfer who was himself
originally under the impression that the pull was obtained in this
manner, but who has apparently since abandoned this idea. I feel sure
that for the great majority of players who know anything whatever of
elementary mechanics, it will be unnecessary for me to do this, but
there is a vast number of players who are not well acquainted with
even simple mechanical problems, and it is for these that I take the
trouble to bring forward James Braid to give evidence against this
idea of turning over the wrist at the moment of impact.
We must remember that Braid himself has stated in _How to Play Golf_
that the striking of the ball is merely an incident in the travel of
the club's head, and we must remember that this book _How to Play
Golf_ was written long after the quotation which I am now about to
give from _Great Golfers_ at page 175. There James Braid tells us
that "in playing for a _pulled ball_ the right wrist turns over at the
moment of impact." This is emphatic enough, and Braid here commits
himself to the same statement as Vardon does, that is to say, that the
right wrist turns over _at the moment of impact_. This is what I
absolutely deny.
It is natural to suppose that Braid's book, _Advanced Golf_, contains
the author's last word with regard to the science of playing the
pulled ball, one of the balls, let us remember, which Harry Vardon
considers the master stroke in the game. Let us therefore turn to
Braid's illustration of playing for a pull in the four photographs
following page 78. Braid here fortunately illustrates the actual
moment of impact in the pull, and it will be seen on examining his
club that it is apparently perfectly soled, that is to say that the
club is lying as truly and flatly as it is at the moment of address.
This is very important and quite incontrovertible as being Braid's
considered opinion, because this stroke is a posed photograph for the
purpose of illustrating the impact in the pull. We see quite clearly
from this photograph that there is absolutely no turning over of the
wrists, but that on the contrary, the right hand is, if anything, well
back on the shaft, and showing no sign whatever, as I have already
said--not even a symptom--of beginning to turn over. Nor, as a matter
of fact, should it do so. The club does not begin to turn over in the
manner described until it has reached practically the full extent of
its outward swing on the far side of the line of flight.
This photograph is, in itself, quite sufficient evidence to show us
that Braid has abandoned his idea with regard to the necessity for
turning over the right wrist at the moment of impact in the pull, but
it is instructive to note that there is in the whole of _Advanced
Golf_ not one word about turning over the wrists at the moment, of
impact in the pull, so that we may take it as definitely settled that
James Braid has, since the publication of _Great Golfers_, found out
his error in this matter, for, against his one sentence in _Great
Golfers_ that "in playing for a _pulled ball_ the right wrist turns
over at the moment of impact," we have not only his statement in _How
to Play Golf_ that the impact is a mere incident in the travel of the
club head, but the still more eloquent fact that in _Advanced Golf_ he
says no word whatever in support of this theory, and that he most
expressly and emphatically by his own photographs contradicts the
idea.
We need not consider what Taylor has to say in connection with the
production of the pull, for we see clearly that his idea of both the
slice and the pull is that they are merely errors in golf and not to
be encouraged.
Let us turn now to a consideration of the slice. The same
misconception which is so prominently shown by nearly every writer
about golf with regard to the pull obtains also in connection with the
slice. This is clearly shown by James Braid in _Great Golfers_, for
following the quotation which I have already given with regard to the
pulled ball, he says: "But for a sliced ball I cut a little across the
ball, the wrist action being the reverse of that for a pull, viz., the
right hand is rather under than over."
[Illustration: PLATE IX. JAMES BRAID
Here, in spite of what Braid says, it will be seen that his
weight at the finish goes almost entirely on to the left
foot.]
Braid tells us that for a pulled ball he turns his right wrist over
_at the moment of impact_. Well, as the wrist action for the slice is
the reverse of this, it follows that _at the moment of impact_ he
turns his right wrist under. This is a very common misconception. It
is one which is held by an astonishing number of practical players.
Mr. Walter J. Travis in his book on _Practical Golf_ repeatedly makes
the error of thinking that this turn under of the wrist has any
effect whatever on the stroke, but it is just as great an error to
think that this turn under of the wrist has anything to do with the
production of the slice, as it is to think that the turning over of
the wrist has anything whatever to do with the pull. Both of these
actions quite naturally _follow_ the correct production of the strokes
referred to.
The slice is an inwardly glancing blow, if anything, with a suspicion
of downward action, whereas, as I have already explained, the pull is
an outward, upward, glancing blow. There must be no attempt whatever
to turn the right wrist under or downward at the moment of playing the
slice, as Braid says he does in _Great Golfers_, although I have not
been able to find the same statement in _Advanced Golf_, where we
should naturally expect to see it if Braid still has this idea. The
curious thing is that in James Braid's illustrations in _Advanced
Golf_ for playing a slice the right hand is much further forward on
the club than it is in those showing the grip for the pull; in fact
were it not that the stance shows clearly that the photographs are
correctly marked, one would be much inclined to think that they had
been wrongly entitled. In playing for the slice, Braid's hand is well
over the club, whereas in the pull it is almost underneath it. In
_Advanced Golf_ this grip for a slice is extremely pronounced, in fact
very much more so than in his illustrations of the stance and address
for this stroke which he gives in his book _How to Play Golf_.
The popular misconception about the slice is well instanced by what
Harry Vardon has to say in connection with the cut mashie approach. He
says at page 129 of _The Complete Golfer_:
It is also most important that at the instant when ball and
club come into contact the blade should be drawn quickly
towards the left foot. To do this properly requires not only
much dexterity, but most accurate timing, and first attempts
are likely to be very clumsy and disappointing, but many of
the difficulties will disappear with practice, and when at
last some kind of proficiency has been obtained, it will be
found that the ball answers in the most obedient manner to
the call that is made upon it. It will come down so dead upon
the green that it may be chipped up in the air until it is
almost directly over the spot at which it is desired to place
it.
I have no hesitation whatever in saying that this is absolutely bad
golf. In all cases where cut is applied to the golf ball there must be
no attempt whatever to introduce anything into the stroke during the
period of contact between the ball and the club. I am here dealing
with Vardon's statement with regard to the mashie approach, but it is
apparent that all cut shots are, in effect, slices, and if one gets
the idea into one's mind that the slice is obtained by anything which
is done consciously during impact and timed by the player to be done
in that space of time, it must militate severely against one's chance
of producing a successful shot.
A little farther down on the same page Vardon says:
At the moment of impact the arms should be nearly full length
and stiff, and the wrists as stiff as it is possible to make
them. I said that the drawing of the blade towards the left
foot would have to be done quickly because obviously there is
very little time to lose; but it must be done smoothly and
evenly, without a jerk, which would upset the whole swing,
and if it is begun the smallest fraction of a second too soon
the ball will be taken by the toe of the club, and the
consequences will not be satisfactory. I have returned to
make this the last word about the cut, because it is the
essence of the stroke and it calls for what a young player
might well regard as an almost hopeless nicety of perfection.
Here it is quite evident that Vardon thinks that the cut on a mashie
approach is played by something imported into the stroke _during
impact_, whereas the truth is that the club in a good shot properly
played never alters from the line of the arc mapped out by the mind
from the very beginning of the stroke. Vardon says that the cut "must
be applied smoothly and evenly without a jerk, which would upset the
whole swing." It is obvious that if the head of the club has travelled
in a certain line down to within a fraction of an inch of the ball,
and is then suddenly pulled across the ball, _there must be a jerk_.
This, however, is not what happens when the stroke is well played. The
club face simply passes across the intended line of flight of the ball
with the front edge of the sole approximately at a right angle to such
intended line of flight, but the club head proceeds across the line in
an uninterrupted arc. If what Vardon, Mr. Travis, and many other
people lay down, were correct, a drawing of the stroke would show the
club head proceeding to the ball in a curve, then a sudden jump
inwards towards the player with a continuation approximating to the
follow-through of the first half of the stroke, but it is almost
needless to say that nothing of this kind takes place either in this
modified slice or the true slice at golf, which we shall have to deal
with more particularly later on.
Speaking of this shot--the cut mashie stroke--Vardon says: "It will
come so dead upon the green that it may be chipped up into the air
until it is almost perfectly over the spot at which it is desired to
place it."
This may be so. I have played the shot myself repeatedly, and I have
repeatedly seen perhaps the greatest master in the world of the cut
mashie approach, to wit J. H. Taylor, playing this shot, and there
cannot be any doubt whatever that this particular class of mashie
approach nearly always gives the ball a considerable run from left to
right. This, indeed, is perfectly natural, for one goes right in
underneath the ball and gives it a tremendous side roll tending to
make it swerve in the air from left to right, and when it strikes the
green, to run in the same direction. So pronounced indeed is the
swerve and run of this ball that I have seen J. H. Taylor playing at
Mid-Surrey when the green was practically completely obstructed by a
large tree, play this shot so that it curved round the tree on to the
edge of the green and then ran in almost to the pin.
The shot which stops so dead at the hole, as Harry Vardon mentions,
must of necessity have much more in the nature of back cut which
produces back-spin than has the ball played by the stroke which he
describes.
Vardon refers to the pull and the slice as being the master strokes in
golf. I have already said that if I had to pick any one stroke which
could be called the master stroke in golf, it would be the
wind-cheater, and it is open to question if the long plain drive is
not entitled to greater respect than either the pull or the slice. Be
that as it may, there is in my mind very little doubt about the
respective merits of the wind-cheater and the other strokes referred
to. The wind-cheater is the ball which is produced with a large amount
of back-spin. Harry Vardon describes it at page 105, and he explains
that in order to make the push shot perfectly "the sight should be
directed to the centre of the ball, and the club should be brought
directly on to it (exactly on the spot marked on the diagram, page
170)." I may remark here that the spot shown on the ball at page 170
of _The Complete Golfer_ for a push shot is absolutely above the
centre of mass of the ball, and that at page 106 Harry Vardon gives a
diagram of "The push shot with the cleek." In this diagram he shows
that the face of the cleek at the moment of impact is perpendicular.
It is quite certain that even if one could hit the ball above the
centre of its mass with a perpendicular face, it would be impossible
to get the ball off the ground in this manner. The push shot with the
cleek must be played with loft on the club, and indeed it does not
matter what club is used for this shot, there must be _loft_ on the
face of the club _at the moment of impact_ if one is to obtain a
satisfactory result, and not only must there be loft on the face of
the club, but it is a certainty that the impact of the club with the
ball must be _below_ the centre of the ball's mass, and not as Vardon
shows it at page 170 of _The Complete Golfer_, above it.
Vardon, for playing this push shot, uses a cleek with a shorter handle
and with more loft than his ordinary cleek. This, indeed, is quite
natural, for the shot is, in the nature of it, a very straight up and
down shot in the line to the hole, and also as it is desirable that
the ball shall be hit by the club before the club head has reached the
lowest point in its swing, Vardon naturally has his hands forward of
the ball at the moment of impact. This, of course, to a certain
extent, counteracts the loft of the cleek, but in no case does it
counteract it to the extent shown by Vardon in the diagram at page 106
of _The Complete Golfer_, for were the blow made as shown by these
diagrams, it would be a mechanical impossibility to obtain the result
described by Vardon.
The reason for keeping the hands forward of the ball is, as I have
indicated, that the club head may make impact with the ball before it
has reached the bottom of its swing, and Vardon's reason for playing
with a club of greater loft than is usually employed is that this
greater loft helps to make up for the fact that his hands are forward
of the ball at the moment of impact. Playing this stroke with an
ordinary cleek would rob the cleek of so much of its loft that the
probability is that the flight of the ball would in its initial stages
be too low to give a satisfactory result.
Vardon says at page 106: "The diagram on this page shows the passage
of the club through the ball as it were, exactly," but the trouble is
that it does not show the passage of the club through the ball "as it
were, exactly," because at the moment of impact with the ball the club
must have sufficient loft on its face to lift the ball, and, moreover,
the face of the club must make its first contact at a point at most as
high as the centre of the ball, but preferably much lower, so that the
force of the blow has an opportunity of exerting itself upwardly
through the centre of the ball's mass. Vardon plays this shot
perfectly, but he does not describe it as well as he plays it. He says
at page 106 of _The Complete Golfer_:
I may remark that personally I play not only my half cleek
stroke, but all my cleek strokes in this way, so much am I
devoted to the qualities of flight which are thereby imparted
to the ball, and though I do not insist that others should do
likewise in all cases, I am certainly of opinion that they
are missing something when they do not learn to play the half
shot in this manner. The greatest danger they have to fear is
that in their too conscious efforts to keep the club clear of
the ground until after impact, they will overdo it and simply
top the ball, when, of course, there will be no flight at
all.
There can be no doubt that this stroke is an extremely valuable one,
particularly with the cleek, and it is a stroke which will well repay
anyone for the time spent in practising it. There is, indeed, as
Vardon says, a great danger of the player topping the ball if he tries
to keep too far away from the ground until after the impact, but he
must at all costs get out of his mind the idea of hitting the ball
where Vardon says it should be hit, viz. above the centre of the
ball's mass. This never was golf. It is not golf now, and it never
will be golf.
It is almost incredible, but is a fact, that a golf journalist who
presumed to say that he knew what was "at the back of his (Harry
Vardon's) head" stated in an article in a sporting magazine in London,
that this push shot, one of Vardon's most beautiful and accurate
strokes, is obtained by thumping the ball on to the earth--in fact
that the stroke is almost what one might term a "bump ball," to use
the cricket term. Any idea more abhorrent to the true golfer than the
notion of producing his finest cleek shots and approach shots by
banging the ball on to the earth can hardly be imagined, nor anything
more incorrect.
The wind-cheater is an invaluable stroke, but there can be no doubt
that it is a stroke calling for a very considerable degree of skill in
order to play it perfectly, or indeed very well, and in connection
with this matter there was a very peculiar but entirely mistaken idea
that for the production of this stroke it was necessary at the moment
of impact to turn over both wrists. This idea obtained for years, and
notwithstanding my repeated explanations, the deeply rooted notion was
persevered in and used in such a manner by many players that it
seriously interfered with their game.
Some of the criticism which I had to put up with at the time that I
was instructing golfers in these matters was very remarkable. I must
give one instance which seems almost incredible. I had explained in
the pages of _Golf Illustrated_, the leading golfing journal of
London, how the pull is produced, and I had therein indicated as
clearly and decidedly as I now do that it was impossible to produce
the pull by the method indicated by Harry Vardon. Mr. A. C. M. Croome,
the well-known international player, solemnly asserted in the _Morning
Post_ that he had himself seen Harry Vardon produce the shot in the
manner which I said was an impossibility, and that in effect an ounce
of practice was worth a pound of theory.
I took the trouble to explain that a cinematograph with about 400
pictures, or perhaps a good many less per second, was sufficient to
deceive an ordinary man into thinking that he saw a continuous picture.
I explained that the camera which took the photographs for my purpose
was timed to give an exposure of one twelve-hundred-and-fiftieth of a
second, and that this was, therefore, at least three times as rapid as
the machine which deceives an ordinary man into thinking that he sees a
single picture, but notwithstanding that the camera was so tremendously
rapid in its exposure, the golf club beats it to such an extent that at
the moment of impact the club is represented by a swish of light or
movement on the plate, and the ball immediately after impact is
represented by something resembling a section of a sperm candle. So
extremely rapid is its flight that it is impossible to obtain even by so
short an exposure anything resembling clear definition.
I showed clearly that an implement which was moving so fast as to
absolutely beat the machine which was three times as fast as the
machine which deceived the human being, was not likely to be able to
be followed accurately by the human eye unaided in any way whatever.
Still, that was the kind of criticism which I had to undergo.
I was told exactly the same thing when I explained that in the push
shot there must be no attempt whatever to turn over the wrists at the
moment of impact, that in this shot as in all other strokes at golf,
there must be no attempt whatever made to interfere with, or alter,
during impact, the angle of the loft taken at the time of address, for
any such attempt as this must end in trouble.
It was some years after this controversy that Mr. A. C. M. Croome
produced a column in the _Morning Post_ entitled "Justice," in which
he referred to the matter as follows:
MR. VAILE RIGHT
It is common talk that Sherlock has improved a great deal
since he migrated from Oxford to Stoke Poges, and for once
common talk is right. His driving, at least when the ground
is hard, is distinctly longer than it used to be, but the
increased length has not been purchased at the expense of
steadiness. The ball still flies from his wooden clubs along
a line ruled straight to the hole. Even more valuable to him
than the gain in length is the acquisition of all that range
of shots which, if correctly played, leave the striker posed
with his arms straight out and the back of his right hand
uppermost.
A few years ago I, in common with many other misguided
golfers, believed that the movement of the right hand was the
cause, not the consequence, of correct execution.
Consequently a large percentage of the shots attempted to be
played in this way went anywhere but to the desired place. We
turned the key in the lock too soon. So far as I know Mr. P.
A. Vaile was the first publicist to set forth the truth. I
have differed from him on many points and found myself unable
to follow the more abstruse of his treatises. It is a
pleasure to acknowledge a debt to him, and it is a heavy
debt, for a misconception of the work done by the right hand
in holding the ball up against a left hand wind is fraught
with disastrous consequences. Sherlock was performing this
feat most exactly on Tuesday and hitting the ball monstrous
far with his irons forbye.
I was very pleased to see this statement by Mr. Croome, for several
reasons. It was a sportsmanlike acknowledgment of error, and a fine
instance of what I call "the detached mind," which is extremely rare
in England. The majority of controversialists are too much taken up
with the personal aspect of the controversy, to remember that the
controversy if it is worth entering upon, must always be of more
importance than the controversialists, but beyond this, it is always
of importance, especially for one who is in the habit of writing golf,
to know the game to the core, for such an one can do much to spread a
correct knowledge of the game, and this misconception of the action of
the wrists has been responsible for millions of foundered shots.
I cannot help thinking, however, that in Mr. Croome's generous
acknowledgment of error, he was, to a certain extent, committing
another error, for when he spoke of "all that range of shots, which if
correctly played, leave the striker posed with his arms right out and
the back of his right hand uppermost" he referred naturally to balls
which have been played in the main with back-spin, but a little later
on he proceeded to say:
It is a pleasure to acknowledge a debt to him, and it is a
heavy debt, for a misconception of the work done by the right
hand in holding the ball up against a left hand wind is
fraught with disastrous consequences.
Here it will be evident that Mr. Croome is referring to a pulled ball,
but at no time when one has obtained a pulled ball by a stroke
properly played, will the finish be such as that described by Mr.
Croome. The finish described by him is the characteristic finish of
the wind-cheater type of ball, but, notwithstanding this, the point is
that Mr. Croome has acknowledged the error with regard to the turn
over of the wrists; as he very well puts it, "we turned the key in the
lock too soon." That very succinctly summarises the matter, and it
will be sufficient for our purpose in this chapter.
I must quote again a passage in Mr. Croome's article. He says: "Even
more valuable to him than the gain in length is the acquisition of all
that range of shots which, if correctly played, leave the striker
posed with his arms straight out and the back of the right hand
uppermost." This is a somewhat curious sentence. As a matter of fact,
anyone who acquires this range of shots will acquire with it extra
distance, for the finish, as I have already stated, but cannot state
too often or too emphatically, is the characteristic finish of the
wind-cheater--a ball which carries the beneficial back-spin of golf,
the secret at once of length and direction.
CHAPTER IX
THE ACTION OF THE WRISTS
There is no doubt that a proper wrist action in the drive is of very
great importance, and it is just as undoubted that the real secret of
wrist action has been enshrouded in mystery by anyone who has in any
way attempted to deal with it. Indeed, so great a master of the game
as James Braid, absolutely confesses that he does not know where the
wrists come in during the drive. As Braid has already stated that it
is almost impossible to teach putting, it really looks as though there
is quite a considerable gap in golf which must be left to his pupils'
imagination, but this is not really so. These great golfers really
know golf and teach it much better than their published works would
lead one to believe, and as a matter of fact in very many instances
the matter which I am criticising so plainly is, I believe, not their
own. I cannot believe that much of the ridiculous nonsense which is
published in association with the greatest names of the world would be
upheld by them in an ordinary lesson--in other words, I am firmly
convinced that they suffer in the interpretation by persons whose
knowledge of golf is extremely limited.
It will, however, be interesting to see what the great golfers have to
say with regard to wrist work. Let us turn first to Harry Vardon at
page 70 of _The Complete Golfer_. There he says:
Now pay attention to the wrists. They should be held fairly
tightly. If the club is held tightly the wrists will be
tight, and _vice versa_. When the wrists are tight there is
little play in them and more is demanded of the arms. I do
not believe in the long ball coming from the wrists. In
defiance of principles which are accepted in many quarters, I
will go so far as to say that, except in putting, there is no
pure wrist shot in golf. Some players attempt to play their
short approach with their wrists as they have been told to
do. These men are likely to remain at long handicaps for a
long time. Similarly there is a kind of superstition that the
elect among drivers get in some peculiar kind of "snap"--a
momentary forward pushing movement--with their wrists at the
time of impact, and that it is this wrist work at the
critical period which gives the grand length to their drives,
those extra twenty or thirty yards which make the stroke look
so splendid, so uncommon, and which make the next shot so
much easier. Generally speaking, the wrists, when held
firmly, will take very good care of themselves; but there is
a tendency, particularly when the two V-grip is used to allow
the right hand to take charge of affairs at the time the ball
is struck, and the result is that the right wrist, as the
swing is completed, gradually gets on to the top of the shaft
instead of remaining in its proper place.
There are several important statements in this paragraph. Vardon says,
"I do not believe in the long ball coming from the wrists," and I say
that there is no doubt whatever that in the ordinary acceptation of
the term the long ball no more comes from the wrists than it does from
the feet, for as Vardon indicates here, in a drive of perfect rhythm
there is no such thing as getting the wrists into the work at, or
about, the moment of impact, as is so frequently advocated by authors
who preach what they do not themselves practise.
Vardon says that "except in putting there is no pure wrist shot in
golf." I have already shown that not even in putting is there such a
thing as a pure wrist shot in golf, unless, indeed, the player should
be playing with a putter which has an absolutely perpendicular shaft.
In this case, and in this only, is it possible to play a pure wrist
shot in golf if one follows out correctly the instructions which are
recognised as being the soundest guide in good putting.
Before quoting from James Braid in _Advanced Golf_ I must draw
particular attention to what Vardon has said about the "snap" of the
wrists at the moment of impact. He says that "there is a kind of
superstition that the elect among drivers get in some peculiar kind of
'snap'--a momentary forward pushing movement--with their wrists at the
time of impact, and that it is this wrist work at the critical period
which gives the grand length to their drives." It is surely not to be
wondered at that this, as Vardon terms it, "superstition" exists, when
we read in a book such as _Advanced Golf_, which was published several
years after Vardon's _Complete Golfer_, statements to this effect:
Then comes the moment of impact. Crack! Everything is let
loose, and round comes the body immediately the ball is
struck, and goes slightly forward until the player is facing
the line of flight. The right shoulder must not come round
too soon in the downward swing but must go fairly well
forward after the ball is hit. If the tension has been
properly held all this will come quite easily and naturally;
the time for the tension is over and now it is allowed its
sudden and complete expansion and quick collapse. That is the
whole secret of the thing--the bursting of the tension at the
proper moment--and really there is very little to be said in
enlargement of the idea. At this moment the action of the
wrists is all-important, but it cannot be described. Where
exactly the wrists begin to do their proper work I have never
been able to determine exactly, for the work is almost
instantaneously brief. Neither can one say precisely how they
work except for the suggestion that has already been made. It
seems, however, that they start when the club head is a
matter of some eighteen inches from the ball, and that for a
distance of a yard in the arc that it is describing they have
it almost to themselves, and impart a whip-like snap to the
movement, not only giving a great extra force to the stroke,
but, by keeping the club head for a moment in the straight
line of the intended flight of the ball, doing much towards
the ensuring of the proper direction. It seems to be a sort
of flick--in some respects very much the same kind of action
as when a man is boring a corkscrew into the cork of a
bottle. He turns his right wrist back; for a moment it is
under high tension, and then he lets it loose with a short,
sudden snap. Unless the wrists are in their proper place as
described, at the top of the swing, it is impossible to get
them to do this work when the time comes. There is nowhere
for them to spring back from.
Here it will be seen that in a work of James Braid which is entitled
_Advanced Golf_ and which was published several years after Harry
Vardon's _Complete Golfer_ and by the same firm, we have advice and
information given to us which is diametrically opposed to the ideas of
Harry Vardon. There can be no doubt whatever that Vardon's opinion
with regard to this matter is much sounder than Braid's, and in order
that I may assist anybody who is in doubt as to which opinion to be
influenced by, I shall analyse Braid's statement.
We must, before we begin to consider Braid's advice, remember that he
himself admits that he does not know where the wrists come in.
This reminds me of an incident which occurred a short time ago. An
unfortunate golfer who had an idea that a golf ball should be hit in
much the same manner as a cricket ball, or any other common sort of
ball, came to me in my office one day and asked me to show him what
was wrong with his swing. I put down a ball for him on a captive
machine, handed him a golf club and said: "Let me see you hit it?" He
proceeded to hit it, but the instant his club head moved away from the
ball it was apparent to me that he had not a rudimentary idea of the
golf stroke. His left wrist began to turn outwards instead of inwards
and downwards. I showed him at once how wrong he was in the
fundamental principles of the golfing stroke, for, as is quite usual,
he had no idea whatever of the proper distribution of his weight,
having been taught by his professional that it must, at the top of the
swing, be on his right leg. But the main point to which I want to draw
attention is contained in his plaintive remark to me:
"Yes, that is all right now you show it to me, and I can feel that it
is better, but it is when I come to play the ball and have to remember
all these things that I make a mess of it."
My reply to him was: "My dear fellow, the man who understands how to
teach golf does not teach you how to remember all these things. He
teaches you how to forget them--in other words, he so instructs you
that everything you do between the moment that you address the ball
and the time that you hit it, is done practically without any strain
on your mind whatever. It is done by habit or second nature. Anyone
who teaches you in such a manner that you have to remember each of the
things which you think go to make up a perfect drive _while you are
making that drive_ is no use whatever to you as a teacher," and he was
immensely relieved even at the bare idea of this revolutionary
teaching.
Nevertheless, in effect, this is the only true and scientific tuition
for the golfing drive. We want to make the golfer handle his club in
such a manner that all these things which the ordinary book tells him
about as being necessary to be done and to be considered seriatim,
fall into their places as naturally as one foot comes after another in
a walk. To do this we have, unquestionably, to go through an enormous
amount of elimination of utterly false doctrine, and the quotation I
have just given from _Advanced Golf_ is an excellent illustration of
what a true teacher has to do in the way of beating down and clearing
away harmful doctrine.
Here we have published with the authority of a great player like James
Braid, and in absolute opposition to the advice of an equally great
player, Harry Vardon, a statement to the effect that the wrists come
into the drive and influence the stroke for eighteen inches before and
after impact. We are told that "at this moment the motion of the
wrists is all-important, but it cannot be described." We need not
wonder that the action of the wrists cannot be described, for at the
moment referred to by James Braid, there is, as a matter of practical
golf and undoubted fact, no wrist action whatever. If one had any
doubt whatever about this, one would only have to look at Braid's
photographs in _Advanced Golf_ showing how he plays for a pull and a
slice respectively.
In both of these strokes Braid uses identically similar photographs to
show his stance and address. Personally, as I have already stated, I
consider that he is, from a golfing point of view, utterly wrong in
doing such a thing, for there can be no doubt that the positions are
extremely different. Indeed, it would be quite ridiculous to suppose
that they were not so, but taking these photographs as Braid's mental
picture of what he does at the moment of impact, we see there clearly
that the wrists are, at the moment of impact, in exactly the same
position as they were at the moment of address.
Taking this in conjunction with the fact that Braid says in the
extract which I have just quoted "Where exactly the wrists begin to do
their proper work I have never been able to determine exactly, for the
work is almost instantaneously brief," we are quite justified in
coming to the conclusion that Braid himself does not, in this critical
portion of the swing, use any wrist work whatever.
Now Braid says that he has never been able to determine exactly where
the wrists begin to do their proper work, so I must explain for his
benefit, and for the benefit of the great body of golfers, where the
wrists really begin to do their work, and where they do the most
important part of their work, and that is absolutely at the beginning
of the downward stroke. It is here that the wrists have the greatest
life and "snap" in them, for the weight of the club and the strain of
the development of the initial velocity fall across the wrist-joints
in that position which gives them their greatest resistance--that is,
in the way in which the wrists bend least; but it must not be
forgotten that although the wrist bends least sideways, still, the
bend that the wrist is capable of in that direction provides a
tremendous amount of strength. This is particularly evident in all
games which are played with rackets.
I must here give an illustration of the power that is obtained in this
position. I have before referred to Mr. Horace Hutchinson's
illustration of the proper position at the top of the drive which he
gives in the Badminton volume on _Golf_. Here the player is shown with
the right elbow pointing skywards, and the left, if anything, too much
out the other way.
An unfortunate golfer who had tried to put these principles into
execution came into my office one day, and told me that he could get
no length whatever in his drive. I handed him a club and said: "Let me
see you swing?" At the top of his swing he got into this position
which is now considered the classical illustration of how it should
not be done, and after I had allowed him to swing several times from
this position I said to him: "Now swing again, but stop at the top of
your swing." He stopped at the top of his swing, and I then went and
stood behind him almost in a line with his right shoulder and the hole
and about a club's length from him, and I addressed him as follows:
"Will you kindly forget for the moment that that thing which you have
in your hands is a golf club, and will you also consider, ridiculous
as it may seem, that for the nonce my head is a block of wood, and
that you have in your hands now an axe instead of a golf club, with
which you desire to split my head in two. Would you now, if you had to
strike this block of wood, use your arms as you are doing?"
"Why, no," came the answer instantly. "I should do this," and down
dropped both elbows underneath the club. Then I said to this searcher
after the truth:
"I do not think I shall ever again have to tell you where to put your
elbows," and he answered, apparently overwhelmed by my supernatural
cleverness:
"That is a wonderful illustration. I never thought of it like that
before."
I am giving this as an illustration of the vagueness with which people
treat an utterly simple proposition such as this. This man was a
chartered accountant, and really, in his way, a particularly clever
fellow, but he was overwhelmed with admiration because I was able to
show him that with his golfing club he was doing, or trying to do, a
thing which no one but an idiot would have dreamed of trying to do
with a hammer or an axe. This is the kind of thing for which we have
to thank the people who write vague generalities about things which
they do not understand.
Let us analyse this most important pronouncement of Braid's a little
further. He continues:
Neither can one say precisely how they work, except for the
suggestion that has already been made. It seems, however,
that they start when the club head is a matter of some
eighteen inches from the ball, and that for a distance of a
yard in the arc that it is describing they have it almost to
themselves and impart a whip-like snap to the movement, not
only giving a great extra force to the stroke, but, by
keeping the club head for a moment in the straight line of
the intended flight of the ball, doing much towards the
ensuring of the proper direction.
The real truth of this matter is that there is no portion of the arc
of the drive wherein the wrists exert less influence, or are _so
completely out of business_ as they are in that portion of the drive
wherein James Braid _says they are predominant_.
The wrists have a tremendous amount to do with the development of the
speed of the stroke, but particularly in the initial stage of the
downward stroke. This will be most clearly seen by a study of George
Duncan's wrist action at plate 64 of _Modern Golf_, wherein the wrists
are shown turning over when the club has gone about half-way on its
downward swing. Of course, they begin to turn over much sooner than
this, but the truth is that the turn-over of the wrist or, more
correctly speaking, the roll of the forearms in the downward swing is
such a wonderfully gradual and natural process that it would be
utterly impossible for anyone to say at what particular period in the
downward swing it happens, and if anyone can say, or, rather, does
say, at what particular period the wrists come in to the downward
stroke, he is not only an ignorant golfer, but an enemy to golf, for
it is a matter which cannot be described except to say that the wrist
action begins absolutely with the beginning of the stroke, and is then
a continuous and natural turn until the club gets very close to the
ball, by which time there is practically nothing left for the wrists
to do, as the club has reverted to the position in which it was at the
moment of address, or perhaps I should say that it ought to have
reverted to that position, as indeed, in so far as regards the club
itself, is properly shown by James Braid in his photographs of stance
and address and impact.
We have now to deal with the space of eighteen inches in the
follow-through, wherein James Braid asserts the wrists still have it
all to themselves. This eighteen inches is in all properly executed
straight drives, and by straight drives, I mean drives which are not
intentionally pulled or sliced, taken up by a clean follow-through
down the line of flight after the ball, and this follow-through is, of
course, associated with the forward movement of the body on to the
left leg which is so well and clearly shown in the instantaneous
photographs of James Braid and Harry Vardon, but is, by Braid in
_Advanced Golf_, stated to be inadvisable in his text, but clearly
shown as advisable in his photographs.
There can be no doubt whatever that any attempt to introduce into the
drive for eighteen inches before and after impact, anything whatever
in the nature of a "whip-like snap" would absolutely ruin the rhythm
of the swing, for it is evident that the introduction of a "whip-like
snap" into something which we have been told is "a sweep," would
absolutely upset the general character of that "sweep." It is
impossible to have a sweep, and in that sweep to sweep the ball away
and at the same time to get the ball away by a "whip-like snap."
Either we have the sweep or we have the whip-like snap, admitting for
the sake of argument that either of these statements is correct, which
is not the fact, as the ball is hit away and neither "swept" nor got
away with a "whip-like snap," but the would-be learner is presented
with this mass of confused thought, instead of having nothing whatever
to think of with regard to hitting the ball more than he would have in
his mind if he stood still in the road and tried to smite an acorn
with his walking-stick.
Let me make this matter perfectly plain. We will consider that the
beginner has taken his stance and addressed his ball perfectly. Let
him now take his club back from the ball in the manner which the
text-books describe for an ordinary drive. Let him swing it thus back
from the ball for a foot and let him swing it back against that ball
and for a foot on the way to the hole. Let him do this once, twice,
ten times, a hundred times, aye a thousand times, if so many be
necessary for him to get absolutely and firmly settled in his mind the
fact that this swing of one foot back and one foot forward is almost
an exact replica of what happens every time he hits a good straight
drive in actual play; that it is approximately a correct sample of the
club action in that section of the swing back, downward swing, impact,
and follow-through. This idea, and this idea only, is what the golfer
must have in his mind, and when he has got this into his mind he will
see clearly that the whole importance of using the wrists properly in
golf is to get them to do their chief work in the early development of
the power of the golf drive, but that by the time the ball is reached
by the club head they have absolutely gone out of business and do not
again come into operation until in the natural order of things they
turn the club over, and pull it off the line of flight to the hole in
the follow-through.
[Illustration: PLATE X. HARRY VARDON
Finish of a drive, showing Vardon's perfect management of his
weight.]
Braid is wonderfully hazy in this matter. He continues: "It seems to
be a sort of flick, in some respects very much the same kind of action
as when a man is boring a corkscrew into the cork of a bottle. He
turns his right wrist back; for a moment it is under high tension and
then he lets it loose with a short sudden snap." This really is very
sad. We are repeatedly told that the golf stroke is a swing or a
sweep, and that it must be of an even character from beginning to end,
and yet we have James Braid in _Advanced Golf_ telling us that the
impact in the drive "seems to be a sort of flick." Well, all I can say
is that I wish any golfer who goes into the flicking business much joy
and great improvement, but I have not much hope that he will get it
until he finds out that flicking is no portion of the game of golf.
Braid's idea of this most important portion of the drive is most
remarkable. His haziness in connection with the matter extends even to
his illustration. He says that this wrist action is "in some respects
very much the same kind of action as when a man is boring a corkscrew
into the cork of a bottle. He turns his wrist right back; for a moment
it is under high tension and then he lets it loose with a short sudden
snap."
This is, mechanically, a marvellous statement. I do not profess to be
a great authority on the subject of corkscrews, bottles--or their
contents, but even in this respect I may confess to being a trifle
more than theoretical, and I may say that I have inserted many a
corkscrew into many a cork, but I have never yet used a corkscrew
wherein I turned my wrist over as the right wrist turns over in the
downward swing of the golf club. As a matter of fact, I never inserted
a corkscrew into a cork where I did not turn my wrist from left to
right. All the tension in putting a corkscrew into a cork is on the
backward journey, or that which corresponds to the upward swing in
golf. There is no tension whatever on the return, or that portion of
the screwing process which corresponds to the downward swing in golf,
whereas in golf the main portion of tension is in the downward swing;
but I believe Braid is a teetotaller, so we may forgive him if in this
respect his theory is unsound, and I think we can say that although he
may be entirely theoretical in this, his theory is, in this instance,
not more unsound than it is in regard to what he professes to describe
as the wrist action in the golf drive.
Braid says that "unless the wrists are in their proper place, as
described, at the top of the swing, it is impossible to get them to do
this work when the time comes. There is nowhere for them to spring
back from." This is correct and absolutely sound; the wrists must,
unquestionably, be in their right place at the top of the swing, the
right place being, as I have already indicated, and as indeed
practically every respectable book on golf, with the exception of the
Badminton volume, shows, underneath the shaft of the club at the top
of the swing, but it is quite wrong to speak of any such thing as
there being no place "for them to spring back from."
There must be no "spring." It is more a question of swinging than
springing, although, as my readers know, I am opposed even to the idea
of a swing in the golfing stroke. The stroke in golf is one of the
finest hits in the whole realm of athletics, and I object entirely to
it being called a swing or a sweep, or anything but that which it is
legitimately entitled to be called.
Braid says at page 62: "After impact and the release of all tension,
body and arms are allowed to swing forward in the direction of the
flight of the ball." This sentence gives us pause. We have seen,
according to Braid, that for the space of a yard, that is for eighteen
inches before and after impact in the drive, the wrists come into the
swing and do something with a "whip-like snap"--something that is a
sort of a "flick." We see that this "whip-like snap," and this "sort
of a flick," are kept up for eighteen inches after impact, but we are
told a little farther on that at the moment of impact "everything is
let loose, and round comes the body immediately the ball is struck."
How is it possible to imagine this kind of thing taking place within a
swing of perfect rhythm? It is evident that Braid has a very rooted
notion about this wrist movement. I must quote again from him, this
time from _How to Play Golf_. On page 54 he says:
The initiative in bringing down the club is taken by the left
wrist, and the club is then brought forward rapidly and with
an even acceleration of pace until the club head is about a
couple of feet from the ball. So far the movement will
largely have been an arm movement, but at this point there
should be some tightening-up of the wrists, and the club will
be gripped a little more tightly. This will probably come
about naturally, and though some authorities have expressed
different opinions, I am certainly one of those who believe
that the work done by the wrists at this point has a lot to
do with the making of the drive.
Personally, I believe that Braid is wrong in speaking about the
initiative in bringing down the club being taken by the left wrist. I
believe that the left wrist has no more to do with it than the right
wrist, and I do not believe that one practical golfer in a hundred
could tell which wrist he uses, and the chances are that if he could
tell he would not be a very good golfer, for these are things with
which a golfer has no right to cumber his mind. They are things which
can quite well be left to Nature. It is an act of supreme folly for
the ordinary man to think in the slightest degree of apportioning to
either hand the share of its work in the drive. That absolutely must
never be on his mind when beginning his stroke.
Braid here emphasises his idea that the wrists come into the golf
drive at about two feet from the ball. In _Advanced Golf_ he says
eighteen inches. In this matter I must unhesitatingly be with Harry
Vardon, and if I had not Harry Vardon's support,--if I stood against
the authority of the world of golfers--I should still be just as
positive as I am with the important corroboration which Vardon gives
me, for there can be no doubt that as a matter of practical golf,
there is no portion of the stroke in golf wherein the wrists are more
quiescent than in the impact. I must not be misunderstood when I say
this. It is obvious that the wrists at the moment of impact will be
braced to receive the shock of the blow, but the speed of the blow has
been developed long before impact, and the wrists have approximately
resumed their normal position as at the moment of address.
Although Harry Vardon is so positive in combating the notion of the
wrists coming into the drive at the moment of impact, I find him at
page 53 of _Great Golfers_ saying, when writing of the downward swing
with the driver and brassy:
In commencing the downward swing I try to feel that both
hands and wrists are still working together. The wrists start
bringing the club down, and, at the same moment, the left
knee commences to resume its original position. The head
during this time has been kept quite still, the body alone
pivoting from the hips. When the left knee has turned, I find
I am standing firmly on both feet and the arms are in
position as in the upward swing, before the left knee started
to bend. From this point the speed of the wrists seems to
increase, and the impact is thus made with the club head
travelling at its highest velocity.
I would here draw attention to the fact that Harry Vardon says: "The
wrists start bringing the club down." This, I consider, is very
important. I have already referred to Braid's statement about the left
wrist taking the initiative. It is of very great importance for the
golfer or would-be golfer to know that the left wrist has not any
right whatever to claim precedence of the right wrist at this critical
moment in the development of the power in the drive.
The other point in this extract to which I desire to draw attention is
that Vardon says, speaking of a point in the swing which he describes,
and which is practically the same spot wherein Braid says the wrists
exert their influence, that is to say, two feet from the ball: "From
this point the speed of the wrists seems to increase, and the impact
is thus made with the club travelling at its highest velocity." It is
quite possible--in fact, it is nearly certain that the speed of the
wrists will increase from that point, and that the impact will be made
with the club travelling at its highest velocity, but in describing it
in this manner Vardon is very nearly guilty of falling into the same
error as James Braid has; for this reason, that he is directing the
mind to the speed of the wrists at a critical portion of the stroke,
whereas there is only one point whose speed has to be considered, and
that is the point that does the business, which is the centre, if one
may call it so, of the face of the golf club, and it stands to reason
that if this is coming down at an ever-increasing speed, what Vardon
says of this point would be as true of any other point in the downward
swing, but it is bad golf to direct the attention of the student or
the golfer to the speed of his connecting link instead of to the
business end of the club, at any period during his swing. The golfer's
mind must be centred on his ball and his club head.
Taylor, so far as I remember, does not fall into this very grave
error, but he, in common with most of the great professionals, is
under the impression that the wrists are largely used at the moment of
impact to influence the stroke. This is one of the gravest errors in
golf. Speaking of lofting a stymie Taylor says: "Then, exactly as the
club strikes the ball, the wrists must be turned in an upward
direction smartly. The result of this is that the ball is lofted over
the other, and if hit properly it will run on and go out of sight as
intended." It is a very curious thing that nearly every author or
great golfer thinks that in lofting a stymie the best way is to turn
the wrists upwards, whereas in fact, and in practical golf, absolutely
the best and most certain way of lofting a stymie is to turn neither
the wrists, nor, as naturally follows, the face of the club, upwards,
at the moment of impact. That must always tend, in a stroke of very
great delicacy, which is a natural characteristic of many stymies, to
put too much power into propulsion instead of elevation. The best
stymie stroke which can be played, is played without lifting the
mashie or the niblick by so much as a fraction of an inch after the
ball has been hit. I have illustrated this stroke very fully, both by
diagram and photograph in _Modern Golf_, and it is unquestionably
superior in every way to the ordinary method of playing a stymie.
Let us now glance at the Badminton _Golf_ and see what Mr. Horace
Hutchinson has to say with regard to this wrist action. At page 90 we
read:
Now as the club comes near the ball, the wrists, which were
turned upward when the club was raised, will need to be
brought back, down again. It is a perfectly natural movement,
but where many beginners go wrong with it is that they are
too apt to make this wrist-turn too soon in the swing, and
thereby lose its force altogether. The wrists should be
turned again, just as the club is meeting the ball--otherwise
the stroke, to all seeming perhaps a fairly hit one, will
have very little power.
It is quite evident that Mr. Hutchinson is an adherent of the
"whip-like snap" and the "flick" theory at the moment of impact, for
he tells us that the wrists must be turned again just as the club is
meeting the ball.
I need not deal fully with this statement, for I have already
sufficiently analysed the same idea which is held by James Braid. The
only difference is that Mr. Horace Hutchinson's is very much worse
than Braid's, in that he thinks the turn-over of the wrists should be
executed at the moment of impact, which of course would import into
the golf stroke a very much greater risk of error than already does
exist in it, and it is unnecessary for me to assure golfers that there
is already quite sufficient chance of error without our endeavouring
to add to it in any way whatever. But I should like to pause to raise
one question.
Mr. Hutchinson, like nearly every other writer on golf, is a disciple
of one of the most pronounced fallacies in the game, viz.: "As you go
up, so you come down," naturally, of course, all things being
reversed. Let us then consider this point. We are informed by Mr.
Horace Hutchinson that the wrists should be turned again just as the
club is meeting the ball. Following our hoary fallacy of "As you go
up, so you come down" I presume from this that immediately the club
leaves the ball, the wrists begin to turn backwards. This would indeed
give us a peculiar start for our drive.
From an anatomical point of view I think there is very little doubt
whatever that the wrists have finished their distinctive function much
earlier in the production of the golf stroke than is generally thought
to be the case, and what is commonly miscalled wrist action is, in
effect, merely the natural roll of the forearm, as it is, I believe,
called, at any rate in the case of the left arm, its supination. There
can be no doubt that in the majority of cases where writers refer to
wrist action, they are confusing the natural turn of the forearms with
wrist action.
Before closing this chapter I may perhaps be excused if I refer again
to that remarkable volume _The Mystery of Golf_. At page 167 we are
told:
At the bottom of the swing, therefore, the club head is, or
should be, moving in a straight line. Probably it is when the
greatest acceleration in the velocity of the club, and the
strongest wrist action in the swing of the arms occur in this
straight portion of the stroke, that the follow-through is
most efficacious.
For one who essays to explain the mystery of golf, this is a very
marvellous statement. Probably at no portion whatever of the golf
stroke is the club head proceeding in a straight line. It may be taken
for an absolutely settled fact that it is always proceeding in an arc.
Also it is quite clear that the author is making the sad mistake,
which has been made by so many other people, of thinking that the
wrist action is most in evidence immediately before and after the
period of impact. Most of the leading golfers fall into the error of
stating that cut is obtained by something which is done by the wrists
at the moment of impact, but this is unquestionably an error. I have
dealt with that already in other places so fully that I think that it
will not be necessary for me to do more here than to state that in all
good shots the cut is decided upon practically the moment the club
begins its downward journey, for the amount of cut which is
administered to any ball depends entirely upon the speed, and the
angle at which the club head passes across the intended line of flight
of the ball, provided always, of course, that the club is properly
applied.
CHAPTER X
THE FLIGHT OF THE GOLF BALL
The flight of the ball, and particularly of the golf ball, exercises a
strange fascination for many people to whom the phenomena of flight
exhibited by a spinning ball travelling through the air, are not of
the slightest practical importance. That is to say, there is an
immense number of people who take merely a scientific, and one might
almost say an artistic interest in the effects produced by the
combined influence of spin and propulsion. Scientific men have been
for many years well aware of the causes which produce the swerve of a
ball in the air. By swerve I mean, of course, a curve in the flight of
the ball which is due to other causes than gravitation, and in the
word swerve I do not include the drift of a ball which has been
perfectly cleanly hit, but which, in the course of its carry, has been
influenced by a cross wind. This does not legitimately come under the
heading of swerve. It is more correctly described as drift, and will
be dealt with in due course.
In the _Badminton Magazine_ of March 1896, the late Professor Tait
published an article on "Long Driving." Professor Tait was a practical
golfer and a very learned and scientific man. He proved most clearly
that a golf ball could not be driven beyond a certain distance. He
proved this absolutely and conclusively by mathematics, but, so the
story runs, his son, the famous Freddie Tait, proved next day with his
driver, that his father's calculations were entirely wrong, for he is
alleged to have driven a golf ball over thirty yards farther than the
limit which his learned parent had shown to be obtainable. Naturally,
Professor Tait had to reconsider his statements, and he then arrived
at the conclusion that there must have been in the drive of his son,
which had upset his calculations, some force which he had not taken
into consideration. He soon came to the conclusion that this was
back-spin, and he dealt with this matter of back-spin, which is a
matter of extreme importance to golf, in a most erudite article, which
is much too advanced for the ordinary golfer, so I shall content
myself here with referring to just a few of the most important points
in connection with it. It is necessary that I should, in dealing with
the flight of the ball, give those of my readers who are not already
acquainted with the simple principles of swerve, some idea of what it
is which causes the spinning ball to leave the line of flight that it
would have taken if it had been driven practically without spin.
The explanation is very simple. If a ball is proceeding through the
air, and spinning, the side which is spinning _towards the hole_ gets
more friction than the other side which is spinning _away from the
hole_. It is well known that a projectile seeks the line of least
resistance in its passage through the air. It follows that the greater
friction on the _forward spinning_ half causes the ball to edge over
towards the side which is spinning away from the hole. This, in a very
few words, is the whole secret of swerve.
Professor Tait stated in his article that Newton was well aware of
this fact some 230 years before the publication of the professor's
article, and that he remarked when speaking of a spinning tennis ball
with a circular as well as a progressive motion communicated to it by
the stroke, "that the parts on that side where the motions conspire
must press and beat the contiguous air more violently, and there
excite a reluctancy and reaction of the air proportionately greater."
This really is an extremely simple matter and a very simple
explanation. I have taken care to explain it so simply, for swerve is,
by a very great number of people, looked upon as an abstruse
problem--in fact, my book on _Swerve, or the Flight of the Ball_, is
catalogued as a treatise on applied mathematics, instead of, as I
intended it to be, simply a practical application of the ascertained
facts to the behaviour of the ball in the air.
Professor Tait's article has enjoyed a wonderful vogue. Although it
was published nearly twenty years ago it is quite frequently quoted at
the present time. There are, however, in it some errors which one
would not have expected to have found in such a scientific article.
Speaking of the golf ball shortly after it has left the club,
Professor Tait said:
It has a definite speed, in a definite direction, and it
_may_ have also a definite amount of rotation about some
definite axis. The existence of rotation is manifested at
once by the strange effects it produces on the curvature of
the path so that the ball may skew to right or left; soar
upwards as if in defiance of gravity, or plunge headlong
downwards instead of slowly and reluctantly yielding to that
steady and persistent pull.
There is, in this statement of Professor Tait's, a fundamental error
in so far as regards the flight of the ball. He said: "The existence
of rotation is manifested at once by the strange effects it produces
on the curvature of the path." This is incorrect from a scientific
point of view, and it is also badly stated. The existence of rotation
is not manifested "at once"; in very many cases, practically in all,
the ball proceeds for quite a long distance before the effect of
rotation is seen. This is more particularly so when it is a matter of
back-spin, but it is equally true of the pulled ball or the sliced
ball. Both of these proceed for a considerable distance before the
effect of spin is noticeable. In fact it is well known to all golfers
that the spin begins to get to work as the velocity of the ball
decreases. Also it seems as though it is incorrect to refer to the
strange effects it (rotation) produces on the curvature of the path,
for it is the rotation itself which produces the curvature.
Professor Tait then said:
The most cursory observation shows that a ball is hardly ever
sent on its course without some spin, so that we may take the
fact for granted, even if we cannot fully explain the mode of
its production. And the main object of this article is to
show that long carry essentially involves under-spin.
I shall deal with these two statements later on.
Professor Tait said:
To find that his magnificent carry was due merely to what is
virtually a toeing operation--performed no doubt in a
vertical and not in a horizontal plane, is too much for the
self-exalting golfer!
The fact, however, is indisputable. When we fasten one end of
a long untwisted tape to the ball and the other to the ground
and then induce a good player to drive the ball
(perpendicularly to the tape) into a stiff clay face a yard
or two off, we find that the tape is _always_ twisted in such
a way as to show under-spin; no doubt to different amounts by
different players, but proving that the ball makes usually
from about one to three turns in six feet, say from forty to
a hundred and twenty turns per second, this is clearly a
circumstance not to be overlooked.
It is wonderful how easily a scientific man, as Professor Tait was,
can be led astray when he sets out to find the thing he has imagined.
Professor Tait, by a footnote to his article in the _Badminton
Magazine_, to my mind entirely discounts the value of his experiments.
His footnote is so important that I must quote it fully. He says:
In my laboratory experiments, players could not be expected
to do _full_ justice to their powers. They had to strike as
nearly as possible in the centre, a ten-inch disc of clay,
the ball being teed about six feet in front of it. Besides
this pre-occupation, there was always more or less concern
about the possible consequence of rebound, should the small
target be altogether missed.
It will be apparent even to anyone who is not possessed of a
scientific or analytical mind that Professor Tait _compelled_ his
players to endeavour to play their strokes in such a manner that the
ball had to travel down a line decided on by Professor Tait. I do not
know at what height Professor Tait placed his clay disc from the
earth, but it is evident that if he put it very low down it would
involve the playing by the golfer of a stroke which would naturally
produce back-spin, and in any case the trajectory was arbitrarily
fixed. In experimenting with such a stroke as this, and in such a
manner as this, it should be evident that there should have been no
restriction whatever as to the player's trajectory. If it was decided
that it was necessary to catch the ball in a clay disc, that disc
should have been so large that it was impossible for the golfer's ball
to escape it. It should not have been necessary for the golfer _to
aim_ at the disc. The mere fact of his aiming at the disc and the
ball being teed so near as six feet to the disc, all tended to produce
the shot which would give the results which Professor Tait was looking
for, but that does not prove that the ordinary stroke at golf is
produced in a similar manner, and I do not for one moment believe that
it is.
In speaking of _the stroke proper_ Professor Tait said:
The club and the ball practically share this scene between
them; but the player's right hand, and the resistance of the
air, take _some_ little part in it. It is a very brief one,
lasting for an instant only, in the sense of something like
one ten-thousandth of a second.
We may note here that Professor Tait said: "_The right hand and the
resistance of the air_ take _some_ little part in it." One would be
inclined to think from this that Professor Tait was, as indeed was
probably the case, an adherent of the fetich of the left, for there
can be no doubt that in "the stroke proper" the right hand does much
more than take "_some_" little part in it.
I think that Professor Tait is wrong in his idea that under-spin, or,
as I prefer to call it, back-spin, is essential to a long carry. I
firmly believe that a ball which is hit with practically no spin
whatever, can have a very long carry. However, as the paper which I am
now about to consider follows in many ways very closely on the lines
of Professor Tait's article, I shall leave this matter for
consideration when I am dealing with that paper.
The paper which I am now referring to is one which was read at the
weekly evening meeting of the Royal Institution of Great Britain on
Friday, 18th March 1910, by Professor Sir J. J. Thomson, M.A., LL.D.,
D.S.C., F.R.S., M.R.I., O.M.; Cavendish Professor of Experimental
Physics, Cambridge; Professor of Physics, Royal Institution, London;
Professor of Natural Philosophy, Royal Institution, and winner of the
Nobel Prize for Physics, 1906. The title of this paper was "The
Dynamics of a Golf Ball." It will be observed that neither the
Institution under the auspices of which this lecture was delivered,
nor the lecturer, is inconsiderable. Professor Thomson is, without
doubt, a very distinguished physicist, and we must therefore receive
anything he writes with a certain amount of respect. There are,
however, in this paper, so many remarkable statements that it is
necessary for me to deal with it quite fully.
Professor Thomson tells us very early in the lecture that Newton was
well aware of the cause of swerve which I have already set out, some
250 years ago, and that he remarked that in a spinning tennis ball the
"parts on that side where the motions conspire, must press and beat
the contiguous air more violently, and there excite a reluctancy and
reaction of the air proportionately greater."
Professor Thomson says at the beginning of his lecture:
There are so many dynamical problems connected with golf that
a discussion of the whole of them would occupy far more time
than is at my disposal this evening. I shall not attempt to
deal with the many important questions which arise when we
consider the impact of the club with the ball, but shall
confine myself to the consideration of the flight of the ball
after it has left the club.
I may say here that Professor Thomson, although he announces his
intention of doing this, is later on in his paper, as we shall see,
tempted into considering the questions of impact, and, in my opinion,
making several grave errors therein. We may, however, in the meantime,
pass this by.
Professor Thomson continues:
This problem is in any case a very interesting one, which
would be even more interesting if we could accept the
explanations of the behaviour of the ball given by some
contributors to the very voluminous literature which has
collected around the game. If this were correct, I should
have to bring before you this evening a new dynamics and
announce that matter when made up into golf balls obeys laws
of an entirely different character from those governing its
action when in any other condition.
This, at the outset, is an extremely remarkable statement to come from
so eminent a physicist, for I may say that Professor Thomson, after
making a remark of this nature, proceeds to explain the phenomena of
swerve on exactly the same links which I have set out fully and
explicitly in my book _Swerve, or the Flight of the Ball_. That,
however, is a matter of small importance. It may be that Professor
Thomson has not had the opportunity of perusing this book. It may
indeed be that Professor Thomson has been unfortunate enough only to
have read articles wherein an erroneous explanation of the well-known
phenomena of the flight of the ball is given. Be that as it may, there
can be no doubt that the explanation which has been given of the
causes of swerve has been adequate and accurate, and there would not
have been any necessity whatever for Professor Thomson to bring before
the learned Institution whose fellows listened to his address "a new
dynamics." It would have been sufficient if he had correctly explained
the phenomena of the flight and run of a golf ball according to the
well-recognised laws which govern the flight and run of all balls.
This, however, he quite failed to do.
Professor Thomson says: "If we could send off the ball from the club
as we might from a catapult, without spin, its behaviour would be
regular, but uninteresting." It is quite possible to send a golf ball
off a club without spin. It is just as possible, from a practical
point of view, to send a golf ball away without spin from the face of
a driver as it is from the pouch of a catapult. The catapult is a
machine, and it is a certainty that it can be made to propel a golf
ball without any initial spin whatever. A machine can be made to drive
a golf ball with just as little spin, and as a matter of practical
golf, by far the greater number of golf balls are driven without
appreciable spin--that is to say, without spin which has any definite
action on the flight of the ball.
The learned lecturer says: "A golf ball when it leaves a club is only
in rare cases devoid of spin." It is impossible to prove or disprove
this statement, for practically no ball goes through the air with the
same point always in front. We may see this quite clearly if we care
to mark a lawn-tennis ball, and to hit it perfectly truly, and slowly,
so that it goes almost as a lob across the net. We shall see even then
that the marked part of the ball moves from one place to another. In
fact, even if a golf ball were driven by a machine which did not
impart to it any initial spin, it is almost a certainty that that ball
would not have proceeded far before it had acquired sufficient motion
to justify one in technically calling it spin. Spin, however, is a
delightfully indefinite word, but this much one may at least say, and
it is, in effect, a contradiction of Sir J. J. Thomson's assertion,
namely that in the vast majority of balls hit with golf clubs,
especially by skilled players, the effect of spin on the stroke
_unless designedly applied_, which is comparatively rare, is
practically negligible.
Professor Thomson says that
... a golf ball, when it leaves the club, is only in rare
cases devoid of spin, and it is spin which gives the
interest, variety, and vivacity to the flight of the ball;
it is spin which accounts for the behaviour of a sliced or
pulled ball; it is spin which makes the ball soar or "douk,"
or execute those wild flourishes which give the impression
that the ball is endowed with an artistic temperament and
performs these eccentricities, as an acrobat might throw in
an extra somersault or two for the fun of the thing. This
view, however, gives an entirely wrong impression of the
temperament of a golf ball, which is, in reality, the most
prosaic of things, knowing while in the air only one rule of
conduct which it obeys with an intelligent conscientiousness,
that of always following its nose. This rule is the key to
the behaviour of all balls when in the air, whether they are
golf balls, base-balls, cricket balls, or tennis balls.
The idea of a spherical object having a nose is so unscientific and so
inexact that it is not necessary for me to dwell very strongly on it
here, and I should not do so were it not that this looseness of
description is of considerable importance in dealing with Professor
Thomson's ideas. He continues:
Let us, before entering into the reasons for this rule, trace
out some of its consequences. By the nose on the ball we mean
the point on the ball furthest in front.
It will be obvious to my readers that this description is
scientifically extremely inaccurate, for if we take a line through the
ball from the point of contact with the club to the point on the ball
farthest in front, which Professor Thomson calls its nose, we shall
find that the flight of that ball will always be in that same line
produced, whereas in the spinning ball it is nothing of the sort. The
whole trouble here is that Professor Thomson wants to have the "nose,"
as he calls it, of the ball, both a fixed and a moving point. This,
obviously, is most unscientific. If the nose of the ball is the point
that is farthest in front, I cannot say too emphatically that it
stands to reason that the ball in flight will go straight out after
that point, but the fact is that the point in front is continually
changing; moreover, the fact that the ball goes the way it is spinning
is not explained by any tendency of the ball to wander that way on
account of the spin irrespective of the friction of the air.
It will thus be seen that Professor Thomson's explanation in this
matter is incorrect and misleading. This is about the most
unscientific explanation which could be given of this matter, and it
is one which is calculated to mislead people who would otherwise
understand the matter quite clearly, so we shall drop Professor
Thomson's idea of giving the ball a "nose" which is always in the
front of it, but which is also supposed to be continually travelling
sideways. It is obvious that Professor Thomson cannot have it both
ways.
It is very clear indeed that Professor Thomson is not well acquainted
with the method of applying spin to balls which are used in playing
games. He says:
A lawn-tennis player avails himself of the effect of spin
when he puts "top-spin" on his drives, _i.e._ hits the ball
on the top so as to make it spin about a horizontal axis, the
nose of the ball travelling downwards as in figure 4; this
makes the ball fall more quickly than it otherwise would, and
thus tends to prevent it going out of the court.
I have played lawn-tennis for more than twenty years, and I am the
author of three books on the game, one of which is supposed to be the
standard work on the subject, and I can assure Professor Thomson that
no lawn-tennis player would dream of doing anything so silly as to hit
a lawn-tennis ball "on the top" in an attempt to obtain "top-spin."
The scientific method of obtaining top-spin is to hit the lawn-tennis
ball on what Professor Thomson, if he were driving the ball over the
net to me, would call its nose--that is to say, I should hit the ball
on the spot which was farthest from Professor Thomson. I should hit it
there with a racket whose face was practically vertical, but I should
hit it an upward, forwardly glancing blow which would impart, as
Professor Thomson expresses it, "spin about a horizontal axis to the
ball."
Professor Thomson goes so far as to show by diagram the travel of a
ball which has been hit so as to impart top-spin to it, but even in
this diagram he is absolutely wrong, for he shows that immediately the
ball has been hit with top-spin it begins to fall, but this is not so.
In lawn-tennis the ball travels for a long distance before the spin
begins to assert itself, and to overcome the force of the blow which
set up the spin.
Professor Tait makes this same error in his article on "Long Driving,"
and it is quite evident to me that Professor Thomson is following, in
many respects, the errors of his eminent predecessor.
Professor Thomson also says:
Excellent examples of the effect of spin on the flight of a
ball in the air are afforded in the game of base-ball. An
expert pitcher, by putting on the proper spin, can make the
ball curve either to the right or the left, upwards or
downwards; for the side-way curves the spin must be about a
vertical axis; for the upward or downward ones, about a
horizontal axis.
There are no particular laws with regard to the curves of a base-ball.
The same laws regulate the curves in the air of every ball from a
ping-pong ball to a cricket ball, and Professor Thomson, in saying
that "for the side-way curves the spin must be about a vertical axis,"
is absolutely wrong. Every lawn-tennis player who knows anything
whatever about the American service, will know that Professor Thomson
is utterly wrong in this respect, for the whole essence of the swerve
and break of the American service, which has a large amount of
side-swerve, is that the axis of rotation shall be approximately at an
angle of fifty degrees, and any expert base-ball pitcher will know
quite well that he can get his side-curve much better if he will,
instead of keeping his axis of rotation perfectly vertical, tilt it a
little so that it will have the assistance of gravitation at the end
of its flight instead of fighting gravitation, as it must do if he
trusts entirely to horizontal spin about a vertical axis for his
swerve.
Professor Thomson says:
If the ball were spinning about an axis along the line of
flight, the axis of spin would pass through the nose of the
ball, and the spin would not affect the motion of the nose;
the ball, following its nose, would thus move on without
deviation.
The spin which Professor Thomson is describing here is that which a
rifle bullet has during its flight, for it is obvious that the rifle
bullet is spinning "about an axis along the line of flight," and that
the axis of spin does pass through the nose of the bullet, but we know
quite well that in the flight of a rifle bullet there is a very
considerable amount of what is called drift. It is, of course, an
impossibility to impart to a golf ball during the drive any such spin
as that of the rifle bullet, although in cut mashie strokes, and in
cutting round a stymie, we do produce a spin which is, in effect, the
same spin, but this is the question which Professor Thomson should set
himself to answer. He states distinctly that a ball with this spin
would not swerve. If this is so, can Professor Thomson explain to
us why the rifle bullet drifts? As a matter of fact, a ball with this
spin _would_ swerve, but not to anything like the same extent as would
a ball with one of the well-recognised spins which are used for the
purpose of obtaining swerve.
[Illustration: PLATE XI. JAMES BRAID
Finish of drive, showing clearly how Braid's weight goes on to
the left leg.]
Professor Thomson proceeded to prove by the most elaborate experiments
the truth of those matters stated by Newton centuries ago, but it will
not be necessary for me to follow him in these, because these
principles have been recognised for ages past.
It is curious to note that in the reference to Newton, who was aware
of this principle of swerve so long ago, we are shown that Newton
himself did not quite grasp the method of production of the stroke,
although he analysed the result in a perfectly sound manner. Writing
to Oldenburg in 1671 about the Dispersion of Light, he said in the
course of his letter: "I remembered that I had often seen a tennis
ball struck with an oblique racket describe such a curved line." The
effect of striking a tennis ball with an oblique racket is, generally
speaking, to push it away to one side. The curve, to be of a
sufficiently pronounced nature to be visible, must be produced by the
passage of the racket across the intended line of flight of the ball.
This matter of the different pressure on one side of the ball from
that on the other is very simple when one thoroughly grasps it.
Professor Thomson gives in his paper an illustration which may perhaps
make the matter clearer to some people than the explanation which is
generally given. He says:
It may perhaps make the explanation of this difference of
pressure easier if we take a somewhat commonplace example of
a similar fact. Instead of a golf ball let us consider the
case of an Atlantic liner, and, to imitate the rotation of
the ball, let us suppose that the passengers are taking their
morning walk on the promenade deck, all circulating round the
same way. When they are on one side of the boat they have to
face the wind, on the other side they have the wind at their
backs. Now, when they face the wind, the pressure of the wind
against them is greater than if they were at rest, and this
increased pressure is exerted in all directions and so acts
against the part of the ship adjacent to the deck; when they
are moving with their backs to the wind, the pressure against
their backs is not so great as when they were still, so the
pressure acting against this side of the ship will not be so
great. Thus the rotation of the passengers will increase the
pressure on the side of the ship when they are facing the
wind, and diminish it on the other side. This case is quite
analogous to that of the golf ball.
Even in this simple illustration it seems to me that Professor Thomson
is wrong, for he is pre-supposing that which he does not state--a head
wind. It is quite obvious that these passengers might have to face a
wind coming from the stern of the ship, and in this case the analogy
between the passengers circulating round the deck of a ship, and his
golf ball would receive a serious blow. In stating a matter which is
of sufficient importance to be dealt with before such a learned body
as the Royal Institution of Great Britain, it is well to be accurate.
If Professor Thomson had stated that his Atlantic liner was going into
a head wind, or, for the matter of that, even proceeding in a dead
calm, his analogy might have been correct, but it is obvious that he
has left out of consideration a following wind of greater speed than
that at which the liner is travelling.
Professor Thomson has not added anything to the information which we
already possessed with regard to the effect of back-spin on a ball;
rather has he, as I shall show when dealing with the question of
impact with the ball, clouded the issue. At page 12 of his remarkable
lecture he says: "So far I have been considering under-spin. Let us
now illustrate slicing and pulling; in these cases the ball is
spinning about a vertical axis." We here have a very definite
statement that in slicing and pulling the ball is spinning about a
vertical axis, but it is not doing so.
Professor Thomson has "an electromagnet and a red hot piece of
platinum with a spot of barium oxide upon it. The platinum is
connected with an electric battery which causes negatively electrified
particles to fly off the barium and travel down the glass tube in
which the platinum strip is contained; nearly all the air has been
exhausted from this tube. These particles are luminous, so that the
path they take is very easily observed."
These particles, I may explain, take, in Professor Thomson's mind, the
place of golf balls, and by an electromagnet he shows us exactly what
golf balls do, but it seems to me that if Professor Thomson is not
absolutely clear what is happening to the sliced ball and the pulled
ball, there is a very great chance that, like Professor Tait, he may
induce his particles to do the thing that he wishes them to do, and
not the thing that a real golf ball with a real pull or a real slice
would do. This, as a matter of fact, is exactly what Professor Thomson
does, for, as I shall show quite simply and in such a manner as
absolutely to convince the merest tyro at golf, Professor Thomson is
utterly wrong when he states that in the slice and the pull the ball
is spinning about a vertical axis.
I shall not need any diagrams or figures to bring this home to anyone
who is possessed of the most rudimentary knowledge of mechanics. It
should be quite evident to anyone that to produce spin about a
vertical axis it would be necessary to have a club with a vertical
face, or to strike a blow with the face of the club so held that at
the moment of impact the face of the club was vertical. Now this does
not happen with the slice at golf, for the very good reason that if
one so applied one's club, the ball would not rise from the earth. The
club which produces the slice is always lofted in a greater or less
degree, and quite often the natural loft is increased by the player
designedly laying the face back during the stroke. It is evident that
in the impact with the driver or brassy, the ball, especially the
modern rubber-cored ball, flattens on to the face of the club and
remains there whilst the club is travelling across the line of flight.
This naturally imparts to the ball a roll--in other words, as the club
cuts across the ball it rolls it for a short distance on its face.
It is obvious that this rolling process will, to a greater or less
extent, give to the ball a spin about an axis which is approximately
the same as that of the loft on the face of the club. Therefore, it is
clear that in all sliced balls the axis of spin will be inclined
backward. It seems likely, also, that as the axis of spin is inclined
backward and the ball is rising, there will be some additional
friction at the bottom of it which would not be there in the case of a
ball without spin. This probably helps to produce the sudden rise of
the slice. In all good cut shots with lofted clubs, the angle of the
axis of spin is to a very great extent regulated by the amount of loft
on the face of the club.
Professor Thomson's error with regard to the slice being about a
vertical axis is beyond question, but his error in saying that the
axis of rotation of the pull and the slice is identical, is, from a
golfing point of view, simply irretrievable. Print is a very awkward
thing--_it stays_. The merest tyro at golf knows quite well that the
pulled ball and the sliced ball behave during flight and after landing
on the ground in a totally different manner from each other. If
Professor Thomson knows so much, it should unquestionably be evident
to so distinguished a scientist that there must be a very considerable
difference in the rotation of these balls. The slice, as is well
known, rises quickly from the ground, flies high, and is not,
generally speaking, a good runner. The pull, on the other hand, flies
low and runs well on landing.
It is not merely sufficient to contradict Professor Sir J. J. Thomson
in these matters, so I shall explain fully the reason for the
difference in the flight and run of the slice and the pull. The slice
is played as the club head is returning across the line of flight, and
therefore is more in the nature of a chop than is the pull. Frequently
the spin that is imparted to the ball is the resultant of the downward
and inwardly glancing blow. This not only leaves the axis of rotation
inclined backward, but sometimes inclined also slightly away from the
player, but it is obvious that even if the ball had, as Professor
Thomson thinks it has, rotation about a vertical axis, which is the
rotation of a top, such rotation would, on landing, tend to prevent
the ball running, for, as is well known, every spinning thing strives
hard to remain in the plane of its rotation, but the slice is more
obstinate still than this, for the axis of rotation being inclined
backward, frequently at the end of the flight, coincides with the line
of flight of the ball, so that the ball is spinning about an axis
which, to adopt Professor Thomson's term, runs through its "nose."
This means that the slice frequently pitches in the same manner as
might a rifle bullet if falling on its "nose," and the effect is, to
a very great extent, the same. The ball tries to stay where it lands.
Let us now consider the flight and run of the pull. The pull is played
by an upward, outward, glancing blow. The ball is hit by the club as
it is going across the line of flight away from the player and this
imparts to the ball a spin around an axis which lies inward towards
the player. This means that the pull goes away to the right, and then
swerves back again towards the middle of the course if properly
played, and upon landing runs very freely. The reason for this run has
not been clearly understood by many, and it is quite evident that
Professor Thomson does not know of it, so I shall give an extremely
plain illustration.
Nearly every boy has at some time played with a chameleon top, or some
other top of the same species, that is to say, a disc top. Every boy
who has played with such a top will be familiar with the fact that
when the spin is dying away from the top, it rolls about until one
edge of it touches the earth or whatever it is spinning on.
Immediately this happens the top runs away as carried by the spin.
That is about the simplest illustration which it is possible to give
of the plane of spin of the pulled ball during its flight and of its
run after it has touched the earth, but from this very simple
explanation it will be perfectly obvious to anyone who gives the
matter the least consideration that not only is the axis of rotation
of the pull and the slice dissimilar, but as a matter of fact the
rotation of the pull and the slice is almost diametrically opposed the
one to the other.
Professor Thomson says:
Let us now consider the effect of a cross wind. Suppose the
wind is blowing from left to right, then, if the ball is
pulled, it will be rotating in the direction shown in figure
26 (from right to left); the rules we found for the effect of
rotation on the difference of pressure on the two sides of a
ball in a blast of air show that in this case the pressure on
the front half of the ball will be greater than that on the
rear half, and thus tend to stop the flight of the ball. If,
however, the spin was that for a slice, the pressure on the
rear half would be greater than the pressure in front, so
that the difference in pressure would tend to push on the
ball and make it travel further than it otherwise would.
I have not given this aspect of the question a great amount of
thought, but it seems obvious that in playing for a slice in the
circumstances mentioned by Professor Thomson, it is extremely unlikely
that the greater pressure would be, as he says, on the rear half. If,
indeed, this were so the slice would, in my opinion, not take effect;
also on account of the tremendous speed of the golf ball it seems to
me utterly improbable that in any ordinary wind which one encounters
on a golf links it would be possible to obtain on the rear half of a
golf ball a greater pressure than that on the forward spinning half,
or, to be more accurate, quarter of the ball. I cannot help thinking
that Professor Thomson in saying that in such a case as this the
greater pressure would be on the rear half of the ball is falling into
an error, for it seems to me that he is overlooking the tendency of
the ball to set up for itself something in the nature of a vacuum
which will undoubtedly tend to protect the rear portion of the ball
from the force which must assail it in front during its passage
through the air.
Professor Thomson says that "the moral of this is that if the wind is
coming from the left we should play up into the wind and slice the
ball, while if it is coming from the right we should play up into it
and pull the ball."
That is Professor Thomson's theory. I shall give my readers the
benefit of my practice, which is that whenever there is a cross wind
of any description whatever, hit the ball as straight as it is
possible for you to do it, right down the middle of the course from
the tee to the hole, and forget all about pulls or slices. On a windy
day avoid anything whatever in the nature of side-spin because once
you have applied it to a ball you never know where that ball is going
to end, and if you want any confirmation for this practice you may get
it from Harry Vardon in _The Complete Golfer_, for there can be very
little doubt that a side wind has nothing like the effect on the ball
that golfers seem to imagine, provided always, of course, that the
ball be hit cleanly and without appreciable spin. It is not given to
one golfer in a thousand to know how to use the pull and slice to
obtain assistance from the wind and also to be capable of executing
the strokes. As a matter of practical golf these strokes should, for
at least ninety-five per cent of golfers, be rigidly eschewed.
At the beginning of Professor Thomson's article he said:
I shall not attempt to deal with the many important questions
which arise when we consider the impact of the club with the
ball, but confine myself to the consideration of the flight
of the ball after it has left the club.
It would, indeed, have been well if Professor Thomson had carried out
his expressed intention of leaving this matter alone, for in dealing
with it he has shown most conclusively that he has no practical grip
of the question which he has attempted to deal with. At page 15 of his
article he says:
I have not time for more than a few words as to how the ball
acquires the spin from the club, but if you grasp the
principle that the action between the club and the ball
depends only on their _relative_ motion, and that it is the
same whether we have the ball fixed and move the club, or
have the club fixed and project the ball against it, the main
features are very easily understood.
I can readily believe that this statement of Professor Thomson's is
absolutely accurate. The only thing which troubles me about it is that
I think the person of ordinary intellect will find it absolutely
impossible to "grasp the principle" which Professor Thomson lays down.
If we have the club fixed and project the ball against it, we know
quite well that the ball will rebound from the club, but if we are to
have the ball fixed and move the club against it, nothing will happen
unless we move the club fast enough, in which case we should simply
smash the club.
This is a most amazing illustration of looseness of thought--such an
astonishing illustration that I should not have believed Professor
Thomson capable of it if it had not been published broadcast to the
world with his authority. Of course, I know perfectly well what
Professor Thomson means to say, but I have not to deal with that, and
as a matter of fact what he means to say is quite wrong, but it will
be sufficient for me to show that what he _does_ say is wrong.
Professor Thomson then goes on to say:
Suppose Fig. 27 represents the section of the head of a
lofted club moving horizontally forward from right to left,
the effect of the impact will be the same as if the club were
at rest and the ball were shot against it horizontally from
left to right.
Here Professor Thomson shows that he is quite under a misapprehension
as to the production of the golf stroke. He pre-supposes that the
club is moving in a horizontal direction at the moment it hits the
ball. In a vast majority of instances, probably in about ninety per
cent of cases, the club is not moving in a horizontal direction--in
fact, it would be hardly too much to say that it never moves in a
horizontal direction. It is nearly always moving either upwards or
downwards in a curve at the moment it strikes the ball, so that it
stands to reason, especially when the club face is travelling upwards,
which is what it does in the great majority of cases, that the blow is
never delivered horizontally, but is always struck more or less upward
through the ball's centre of mass.
Practical teachers of golf know how extremely hard it is to induce the
beginner, and for the matter of that many people who are far beyond
beginners, to trust the loft of the club to raise the ball from the
earth; so many players never get out of the habit of attempting to hit
upwards.
It stands to reason that if the blow in golf were delivered as with a
billiard cue, any blow struck in that manner, provided the face of the
club had sufficient loft, would tend to produce back-spin, but
practically no blow in golf is struck in the manner described by
Professor Thomson; nor is the beneficial back-spin of golf obtained in
this manner, in fact the loft of the club has comparatively little to
do with producing the back-spin which so materially assists the length
of the carry. There can, of course, be no doubt that loft does assist
a person in producing this back-spin, or, as Professor Thomson calls
it, under-spin, but to nothing like the extent which is imagined by
the worthy Professor. The beneficial back-spin of golf is obtained by
striking the golf ball before the head of the club has reached the
lowest point in its swing; in other words, the back-spin is put on a
golf ball by downward cut--by the very reverse to that cut which is
put on a ball when a man tops it badly. In the one case it is up cut,
or, as it is called in lawn-tennis, top, which is a misleading term
which has led many people, besides Sir J. J. Thomson, astray, and in
the other case it is downward cut, which is exactly similar in its
effect to the chop at lawn-tennis.
Professor Thomson, for the purpose of illustrating the fact that the
golf ball obtains the beneficial spin, which influences its carry so
materially, from the loft of the club, shows us a club face with a
loft much greater than that of a niblick, and proceeds to demonstrate
from this loft, which it is unnecessary to tell a golfer does not
exist on any club which is used for driving, that the ball acquires
its back-spin from the loft of the face of the club.
I have already referred to the Professor's fundamental fallacy that
the golf stroke is delivered in a horizontal line--in effect that the
force of the blow proceeds horizontally, but he is guilty of another
very great error from the point of view of practical golf when he
shows a club such as he has done, in order to explain how the
beneficial back-spin of golf is obtained. Such a club as he shows
might be useful for getting out of a bunker, but it certainly would be
of no use whatever in practical golf for driving. As every golfer
knows, the face of the driver is, comparatively speaking, very
upright, and firing a ball at a wall built at the same angle as the
loft of a driver would certainly not produce on that ball much in the
way of back-spin. The idea of a modern golf ball which flattens very
considerably on the face of the club, rolling up the face of a driver
on account of its loft, is too ridiculous to be considered seriously
by a practical golfer.
The trouble is that Professor Thomson always takes for his hypothesis
something which does not exist in golf, so that in the great majority
of cases it does not really matter to us what he proves. As a matter
of fact, there is in golf only one horizontal stroke, and that is the
stymie stroke introduced into the game by me, and which I have
hereinbefore fully described. This stroke shows us conclusively how
the power goes mostly into elevation instead of into propulsion. It is
an absolute answer, if one were required, to Professor Thomson's
theories. Professor Thomson's error is of such a fundamental nature
that I must quote his sentence again in giving my readers the full
paragraph wherein he exposes the delusion under which he is suffering.
He says:
Suppose Fig. 27 represents the section of the head of a
lofted club moving horizontally forward from right to left,
the effect of the impact will be the same as if the club were
at rest and the ball were shot against it horizontally from
left to right. Evidently, however, in this case the ball
would tend to roll up the face, and would thus get spin about
a horizontal axis in the direction shown in the figure; this
is under-spin and produces the upward force which tends to
increase the carry of the ball.
This is the rock upon which Professor Thomson has split. He is under
the impression that the beneficial back-spin of golf is obtained by
loft, whereas it is perfectly possible to obtain the beneficial
back-spin of golf with a club having a vertical face, and being at the
moment of impact in a vertical plane, but in order to do this it would
be necessary that the ball should be teed very high, as indeed one of
the most famous professionals in the world is in the habit of doing
when he is playing for a low ball against the wind.
When in _Modern Golf_ I stated that a high tee for a low ball was
practical golf, it was considered revolutionary, if not incorrect,
doctrine, but players now understand that by using the high tee for a
low ball they are enabled to cut down beyond the ball more than they
could do if the ball were lying on the earth, and that they are, in
this manner, enabled to obtain much more of the back-spin which gives
the ball its extra carry, and also to play it with less loft.
This is a very serious error for a man of Professor Thomson's
attainments to make, and indeed it is to me a wonder how he could
possibly make the mistake of thinking that the force in the blow at
golf is administered horizontally. This is one of the worst errors
which he has made, but the idea that the back-spin of golf is obtained
mainly by the loft of the club is utterly unsound and pernicious. It
is so unsound, and the correct understanding of the method of
producing this stroke is so important to golf, especially to the golf
of the future, that I must explain fully how this stroke is obtained.
I have already shown that it is played by a downward glancing blow
which hits the ball before the club reaches the lowest point in its
swing, and I have already shown the delusion under which many players
labour, even including so eminent a player as Harry Vardon, that the
ball is struck down on to the earth. Although the ball is struck a
descending blow, there is in the blow much more of the forward motion
than the downward, so that all the ordinary principles with regard to
getting the ball up into the air, apply with equal force to this
stroke as to any other, and it is a matter of prime importance that
the ball must be struck below the centre of its mass--that the loft of
the club must get in underneath what is popularly called the middle of
the ball. If this does not take place the ball will not rise from the
earth, and to show as Harry Vardon does, at page 170 of _The Complete
Golfer_, that the ball must be struck at or above the centre of its
mass, and with, as he indicates at page 106, a vertical face, is
utterly unsound golf.
I cannot emphasise too strongly that in this miscalled push shot,
which is answerable for all back-spin, the loft must be allowed to do
its work in the ordinary manner, otherwise the stroke will be a
failure.
Having now made it perfectly clear how this stroke is obtained, I must
explain a little more clearly the wonderful character of this ball
which is without any doubt whatever, in my mind, the king of golf
strokes in so far as regards obtaining distance and accuracy and
direction. On account of the downward glancing blow the ball has been
struck, it leaves the club with a very great amount of back-spin. The
hands are always forward of the ball at the moment of impact in this
stroke when it is properly played. It stands to reason that this, to a
certain extent, decreases the loft of the club with which the stroke
is played. The result is that the ball goes away on the first portion
of its journey with a very low flight, keeping very close indeed to
the earth. All the time it is doing this, however, the ball, as we
know, is spinning backwards, which means that the lower portion of the
ball is spinning towards the hole, and that it is on the lower portion
of the ball that the motions of progression and revolution conspire.
It is equally obvious that on the upper portion of the ball the
progression through the air is at the same rate, but in so far as
regards its frictional-producing result on the air, it is lessened by
the fact that the upper portion of the ball is revolving or spinning
backwardly towards the player. The result of this is that the ball is
getting much more friction on the lower portion than it is on the
top, but as speed can always dominate spin, this is not very apparent
until about two-thirds of the carry.
As the speed of the ball begins to decrease, the friction of the spin
gets a better grip on the air, and the result is that with the
continual rubbing of the air on the lower portion of the ball, it is
forced upward and so it continues until the lifting power of the
combined propulsion and revolution is exhausted. By this time the ball
has arrived at the highest point of its trajectory and it then begins
in the natural order of things to fall towards the earth.
It is obvious that by this time much of the back-spin will have been
exhausted, but there still remains a considerable amount of rotation,
and as the ball begins to fall towards the earth this back-spin which
has hitherto been used for forcing the ball upwards into the air,
still exerts its influence, and as it is travelling towards the earth
the remnant of the back-spin exerts its influence to extend the carry
of the ball, because the main frictional portion of the ball has, to a
certain extent, on account of the dropping of the ball, been altered
and shifted probably a little more towards the lower side of the ball.
The result of all this is that by the time this ball, in a well played
drive, comes to earth, most of the beneficial back-spin which obtained
for it its long flight, will have been exhausted, and that portion
which remains and has not been exhausted will, in all probability, be
killed on impact, for the ball pitches on one point, and naturally the
top portion tends to throw forward so that the ball will run along the
course. It stands to reason that it would require an enormous amount
of back-spin to stay with the ball during the period of its low
flight, to lift the ball then to the highest point in its trajectory
near the end of its carry, to stay with it still in its descent, and
then to be strong enough to resist the shock of landing so as to check
the run of the ball. The result is that on account of the low
trajectory of this ball and of the phenomena explained by me, it is
frequently, when well played, and particularly in dry weather, a good
runner, so that we see that in this ball we have practically the ideal
golf drive; a drive with which no other can compare; a drive which is
as good, although it is called the wind-cheater, for a still day as in
a gale.
From this explanation it will be seen what a poor chance anyone would
have who follows Professor Thomson's ideas of obtaining the beneficial
back-spin of golf from the loft of the club and a horizontal blow.
Professor Thomson gives some illustrations of the pull and the slice.
In two of his figures he shows horizontal blows being produced in a
straight line with the line of flight. Both of these, I may say, are
absolutely impossible in golf. He shows a slice in Fig. 29 which would
be much more likely to result in a pull, and he shows a pull in Fig.
31 which would almost certainly result in a slice even if the shots
were possible, which, as he shows them, they are not.
Professor Thomson shows by diagram an ordinary slice which he says is
produced by "such a motion as would be produced if the arms were
pulled in at the end of the stroke." This in itself is an utterly
loose definition. What Professor Thomson evidently means is if the
arms were pulled in during the stroke or at the moment of impact, but
as I have shown the slice is not produced by the arms being pulled in
at the moment of impact. It is produced by the club head travelling
across the ball at an angle to the intended line of flight of the
ball. Professor Thomson shows the slice in this case by diagram, and
correctly, but he says that if the club were fixed rigidly and the
ball were fired at the club down the same line as the club made in its
previous stroke, the ball would come off the club in exactly the same
manner as when it was hit by the club, but in this he is making a very
grave error, as I think I shall be able to show.
I shall quote Professor Thomson with regard to this matter. His
proposition is so simple that although I give his indicating letters
it will not be necessary for me to reproduce his diagram. He says:
Suppose, now, the face of the club is not square to its
direction of motion, but that looking down on the club its
line of motion when it strikes the ball is along P Q (Fig.
28), such a motion as would be produced if the arms were
pulled in at the end of the stroke, the effect of the impact
now will be the same as if the club were at rest and the ball
projected along R S, the ball will endeavour to roll along
the face away from the striker; it will spin in the direction
shown in the figure about a vertical axis. This, as we have
seen, is the spin which produces a slice.
This, as we have already seen, is not the spin which produces a slice,
but we need not waste any further time going into that matter. We can,
however, deal with what Professor Thomson meant to say when he wrote
... but if you grasp the principle that the action between
the club and the ball depends only on their _relative_
motion, and that it is the same whether we have the ball
fixed and move the club or have the club fixed and project
the ball against it, the main features are very easily
understood.
For the purpose of analysing what Professor Thomson evidently meant
when he wrote this, let us take the ordinary case of a slice. We all
know now quite well that a slice is produced by a glancing blow
coming inwardly across the intended line of flight, and Professor
Thomson tells us it is exactly the same thing whether we hit the ball
with the club or fire the ball against the club. Let us see how this
works out in the slice.
We will consider, for the sake of argument, that the slice has been
produced by a stroke which has come across the intended line of flight
at an angle of 30 degrees. We shall now fasten our club rigidly and
fire the golf ball out of a catapult against its face so that it hits
it dead in the centre, and so that it travels down a line at an angle
of 30 degrees to the face. Now most of us know enough elementary
mechanics to know that in hitting a still object such as the face of
the golf club, the ball will come off it at the same angle at which it
hit it--in other words that the angle of reflection is the same as the
angle of incidence, allowing always, of course, for the slight
alteration which will be made by the loft of the club. In this case,
of course, we have one object which is absolutely still, and all the
motion during impact is confined to the ball.
Now let us consider the impact in the slice. In this case the club
strikes the ball a violent blow. The ball, to a very great extent,
flattens on the face of the club, and both the ball and the club
travel together for a certain distance across the direct line of
flight to the hole, and during the time that they are thus travelling
together the club is imparting spin to the ball and influencing its
direction, so that instead of the ball doing anything whatever in the
nature of spinning off the face of the club at a natural angle, it is
driving, during its initial stages, very straightly for a long
distance before the spin begins to take effect.
It seems to me that the slice may be taken as a very good illustration
showing that what Professor Thomson meant to explain is quite
incorrect from a golfing point of view. It is quite evident that
before we could accept as authoritative the explanations which have
been given by Professor Thomson of these somewhat abstruse problems,
it would be necessary for us to have, as he puts it, "a new dynamics."
I have already dealt very fully both in England and America with this
remarkable lecture by Professor Thomson. I have criticised it in the
leading reviews and magazines of the world, and the authoritative
golfing paper of England--_Golf Illustrated_--in a leader, invited
Professor Thomson to make good his assertions, but he has not been
able to do so. One can understand fallacious matter being published
under the names of professional golfers when one knows quite well that
the majority of the work is done by journalists hired for the purpose,
but it is almost impossible to understand how such utterly false
doctrine could be put out by so eminent a man, and under the auspices
of the Royal Institution of Great Britain.
The flight of the ball has always been a fascinating and for most
people a very mysterious subject, but except in one or two matters
there is no mystery whatever about the flight of the golf ball, but
even amongst practical golfers there is an amazing lack of accurate
information. For instance, we find Mr. Walter J. Travis, in _Practical
Golf_ at page 139, saying:
With a very rapid swing, the force or energy stored up in the
gutta ball is greater than in the Haskell. The latter, by
reason of its greater comparative resiliency does not remain
in contact with the club head quite so long, and therefore
does not receive the full benefit of the greater velocity of
the stroke in the same proportion as the less resilient
gutta. It flies off the face too quickly to get the full
measure of energy imparted by a very swift stroke. This
responsiveness or resiliency, however, asserts itself in a
greater and more compensating degree in the case of the
shorter driver. It makes up, in his case, for the lack of
speed, and he finds his distance very sensibly increased.
This is a remarkable error for a golfer like Mr. Travis to make. It is
abundantly plain that the rubber-cored ball stays on the face of the
club much longer than the old gutta-percha ball did. Provided that
there were such things in the world as incompressible balls, the
impact in the drive would be of the least possible duration with them,
but the more compressible the ball becomes the longer it will dwell on
the face of the golf club.
That the rubber-cored ball does dwell for a greater period on the face
of the club is responsible, to a great extent, for the fact that the
modern ball swerves much more when sliced or pulled than did the old
guttie in similar circumstances, and the reason seems to be that on
account of the fact that the ball stays longer on the face of the club
during the time that the club is going across the intended line of
flight, it is able to impart to the ball a much greater spin. This
spin, as we know, exerts its influence principally towards the end of
the ball's flight, and in all probability it gets to work now
approximately at the same place where the spin in the old gutta-percha
ball began to assert itself, but probably a little further in the
carry.
We all know that once the spin has begun to assert itself so as to
make the ball swerve, its deflection from the line, particularly with
a suitable wind, is extremely rapid, and we all know equally well that
the carry of the rubber-cored ball is much longer than that of the old
gutta-percha. It stands to reason that the ball having a much greater
distance wherein to swerve will execute a correspondingly larger
swerve than it would if its carry were shorter.
We find some amazing statements made by authors who profess to deal
with golf. For instance at page 167 of _The Mystery of Golf_, we are
informed that
... another important thing about the follow-through, surely,
is this. As Mr. Travis has pointed out, such is the
resiliency of the rubber ball that club and ball are in
contact for an appreciable period of time--the impact, that
is, is not instantaneous. It is highly probable that the
trajectory of the ball is largely influenced by this period
of contact. If you follow through your club head travels in
precisely the same line as the ball, and the flight of the
ball is by this rendered straighter, steadier, and longer.
This, truly, is a wonderful instance of analytical thought by one who
is attempting to explain the mystery of golf. He has come to the
conclusion that "it is highly probable that the trajectory of the ball
is largely influenced by this period of contact."
I have seen many goals kicked at Rugby football, and have kicked a few
myself, and I am almost sure that in every case when a goal was scored
the boot had a good deal to do with the direction. Marvellous
_analysis_ this!
We may, however, discard these wonderful efforts of analysis and deal
with the remark made by the author that "if you follow through, your
club head travels in precisely the same line as the ball," for this is
absolutely incorrect in the case of many strokes wherein one desires
to influence the flight of the ball by applying spin. For instance, at
practically no time of its travel, no matter how good the stroke is
and how perfect one's follow-through, is the club head in the slice or
the pull "in precisely the same line as the ball." This is merely one
of hundreds of instances of confused thought for which the poor golfer
has to suffer.
I have before referred to the idea of pulling and slicing to
counteract wind. It is astonishing how deeply rooted this idea is. At
page 53 of _Concerning Golf_ Mr. John L. Low says: "There is no shot
which produces such straight results as the sliced shot against a
right hand breeze," to which I reply that there is no shot which gives
such straight results as the straight shot in itself without slice or
pull of any description whatever, and that as a matter of fact it is
practically impossible to calculate within twenty yards, and that
means double the distance, where one will land if one starts pulling
and slicing in a cross wind.
[Illustration: PLATE XII. GEORGE DUNCAN
A characteristic stroke, showing Duncan's perfect finish in
the drive.]
This is a matter of such importance that I must quote Harry Vardon in
support of my statement. He says at page 92 of _The Complete Golfer_:
Now, however, that this question is raised, I feel it
desirable to say, without any hesitation, that the majority
of golfers possess vastly exaggerated notions of the effect
of strong cross winds on the flight of their ball. They
greatly over-estimate the capabilities of a breeze. To judge
by their observations on the tee, one concludes that a wind
from the left is often sufficient to carry the ball away at
an angle of 45 degrees, and indeed sometimes when it does
take such an exasperating course and finishes on the journey
some fifty yards away from the point from which it was
desired to despatch it, there is an impatient exclamation
from the disappointed golfer, "Confound this wind! Who on
earth can play in a hurricane!" or words to that effect. Now
I have quite satisfied myself that only a very strong wind
indeed will carry a properly driven ball more than a very few
yards out of its course, and in proof of this I may say that
it is very seldom when I have to deal with a cross wind that
I do anything but play straight at the hole without any
pulling or slicing or making allowances in any way.
If golfers will only bring themselves to ignore the wind,
then it, in turn, will almost entirely ignore their straight
ball. When you find your ball at rest the afore-mentioned
forty or fifty yards from the point which you desired to send
it, make up your mind, however unpleasant it may be to do so,
that the trouble is due to an unintentional pull or slice,
and you may get what consolation you can from the fact that
the slightest of these variations from the ordinary drive is
seized upon with delight by any wind, and its features
exaggerated to an enormous extent. It is quite possible
therefore that a slice which would have taken the ball only
twenty yards from the line when there was no wind, will take
it forty yards away with the kind assistance of its friend
and ally.
These are, unquestionably, words of wisdom. There can be no doubt
whatever that the straight ball is the ball all the time in golf, and
it is absolutely certain that what Vardon says about the effect of the
wind on the golf ball is true. Wind has remarkably little effect on
the golf ball which is driven without spin. I have had no doubt on
this subject for at least seventeen years. I had my lesson in one ball
during the course of a match played over my home links in New Zealand.
One of the holes was on top of a volcanic mountain at a place where
New Zealand is only a few miles wide, and there was a howling gale
raging from ocean to ocean right across the island. I can remember as
if it were yesterday, the champion of New Zealand, as he was then,
playing this hole. He drove a very high and perfectly straight ball
from tee to green, and the ball travelled to all appearances as
directly as if there had been no wind whatever, whereas had there been
the least slice on the ball it would have been picked up by the wind
and carried away into the crater which lay sixty or a hundred yards
off the course.
Speaking of Mr. Low reminds me that he makes some extraordinary
statements with regard to spin. At page 35 of _Concerning Golf_ he
says: "I have said that a ball with left to right spin swings in the
air towards the left in exactly the opposite direction from a sliced
ball and from contrary causes." It is obvious that this is wrong, for
the spin of the slice is from left to right, and of course, as every
one knows, that spin makes the ball swerve towards the right, which is
the swerve of the slice.
At page 32 Mr. Low makes the same error. He says there: "Now a pulled
ball comes round to the left because the sphere is rotating from left
to right, or in the direction contrary to the hands of a watch." This,
of course, is a contradiction, for the hands of a watch as we look at
them do rotate from left to right, but in any case Mr. Low's
explanation is quite incorrect, because the spin of the ball is not in
a direction contrary to the hands of a watch laid face upwards on the
ground, as Mr. Low affirms.
Mr. Low says at page 31:
Every child nowadays seems to know how to slice a ball; you
have only to ask the question and the answer will come
quickly enough, "Oh, draw the hands in when you are hitting,"
or, in other words, spin the ball in the direction of the
hands of a watch laid face upwards on the ground. The ball
advancing with this spin finds it is resisted most strongly
by the atmosphere on its left side, and therefore goes
towards the right in the direction of least resistance. The
converse is the case with a pulled ball in the sense of a
ball which curves in the air from right to left.
We have already shown in dealing with Professor Thomson's article that
this statement is quite incorrect. In passing I may also refer to the
fact that Mr. Low's idea of the production of the slice, viz. by
drawing the hands in when one is hitting, is also wrong. There is no
drawing in of the hands at the moment of impact in the properly
played slice. It is the drawing in, if we may use the term, of the
head of the club in its travel across the intended line of flight, but
not anything which is done intentionally during impact. However, that
is by the way.
Mr. Low is evidently under the impression, as was Professor Thomson,
that the spin of the ball in the slice is about a vertical axis. This
is an error in itself, as we have shown, but it is not nearly so bad
an error as it is to say that the pull is the converse of the slice in
this respect, for, as we have seen, if the ball were merely spinning
about a vertical axis it could not possibly have the running powers
which it possesses, to say nothing of its low flight. Although Mr. Low
has got somewhat mixed in describing his rotation, it is evident from
his reference to the hands of the clock that his ideas are correct in
so far as regards the general direction of spin, but where he is at
fault is in stating the axis of rotation of his ball.
If we accept Mr. Low's statement about the axis of rotation we shall
have the pulled ball, when it lands, striking the earth with a spin
equivalent to a sleeping top, but that is not what we want in the
pulled ball, for neither would it give us the low trajectory which we
desire so much, nor would it give us, on landing, the running which we
desire, if anything, still more. The spin which we desire to produce
and which we must have in our minds to produce when we are playing the
stroke, is such a spin as will give us, when the ball lands,
approximately the spin of a disc top as it falls to earth when its
spin is nearly exhausted. I am speaking now, of course, not of the
question of degree, but of the plane of spin. We must have our ball
spinning in such a plane that when it touches the earth it will behave
in the same manner as the disc top does when its side comes into
contact with the floor.
In dealing with "The Science of the Stroke," James Braid in _Advanced
Golf_ goes into an analysis of the effect of spin on flight. He says
early in the chapter:
At the present time most players know how they ought to be
standing, and what the exact movements of their arms, wrists,
and body should be in order to swing the club in the right
way and make the ball travel as far as possible, but they do
not all know, and in few cases one suspects have ever
troubled to think, what is the process by which these
movements, when properly executed, bring about the desired
effect.
I do not know how Braid can truthfully say that at the present time
most players know how they ought to be standing, when we are
confronted with the fact that his own book, _Advanced Golf_, and
practically every book which has been published on the game, tells the
unfortunate golfer to stand as he ought not to be standing instead of
giving him the simple truth and sound golf, and it is incomprehensible
to me how Braid can say that they know "what the exact movements of
their arms, wrists, and body should be in order to swing the club in
the right way," when he himself has confessed in _Advanced Golf_ that,
particularly with regard to the wrists, which unquestionably have a
most important function to fulfil in the golf drive, he absolutely
does not know where they come in. It is useless in a work on _Advanced
Golf_ to assume on the part of one's readers a knowledge superior to
that which the author of the book himself has given as his own
limitations. Braid says:
They have the cause and also the effect, but they do not
often see the connection between the two. Of course, the ball
in a ball game moves always according to scientific laws, but
it has seemed to those who have studied these matters that
the scientific problems involved in the flight of the golf
ball are more intricate, but at the same time more
interesting, than in many other cases.
Of course this is quite stupid, because, as I have frequently
explained, there is no special set of mechanical laws for golf--or the
golf ball.
The golf ball follows in all respects exactly the same laws as those
which govern the flight and run of any other ball. The only difference
in connection with the golf ball is that it is probably the most
unscientifically constructed ball in the world of sport. Braid
continues:
The chief matter of this kind that it is desirable the golfer
should understand is that concerning the character and effect
of the spin that is given to the golf ball when it leaves the
club. This spin is at the root of all the difficulties and
all the delights of the game, and yet there are some
players--one might even say many--who do not even know that
their ball spins at all as they hit it from the tee.
I may pause here to note that James Braid says that spin is at the
root of all the difficulties and all the delights of golf. This is in
many respects quite an exaggeration, but I am giving it exactly as he
says it, for the simple reason that it emphasises the fact which I
have always insisted on, that a proper knowledge of the application of
spin to the golf ball is essential for one who would attain to the
greatest success or who would obtain the greatest enjoyment from the
game.
Braid quotes the work of the late Professor Tait very extensively.
Referring to the most important subject of back-spin, he says:
It appears to be the proper regulation of the under-spin
given to the ball when applying it from the tee and through
the green, at all events when length is what is most
required, that makes success, and it is in this way that
players of inferior physical power must make up for their
deficiency and drive long balls.
I may say at once that any idea whatever of the proper regulation of
back-spin in the drive is, from the point of view of practical golf,
merely nonsense. In so far as regards obtaining extra distance by
driving a low ball with back-spin, whose properties I have already
fully described, there is nothing whatever to be done but to get
back-spin and as much of it as one possibly can. The golfer has yet to
be born who in driving can obtain too much back-spin. Braid says:
It is in the long drive that the principles of spin are most
interesting and important, but it must be remembered also
that they are very prominent in their action upon the flight
of the ball in the case of many other shots, and the
peculiarities of different trajectories can generally be
traced to this cause after a very little thought by one who
has a knowledge of the scientific side of the matter, as
explained by Professor Tait. This is particularly the case
with high lofted approach shots.
One may remark here, perhaps, that there is no more unsuitable stroke
in which to study the peculiarity of the application of back-spin to
the trajectory of the ball than in the high lofted approach shots, for
it is in such shots as these practically an impossibility, if one may
so express it, to locate the influence of the spin on the flight of
the ball. It is quite a different thing in the wind-cheater class of
stroke where one sees the ball travelling low across the turf and can
absolutely mark the place where the back-spin begins to get to work
and give the ball its upward tendency towards the end of the drive,
and, when the velocity of the ball has become sufficiently reduced, to
allow the back-spin to exert its lifting power.
I now come to a matter which is of very great importance in the
application of back-spin to the ball. It is quite evident to me that
Braid is falling into the same error as that which was originally made
by Professor Tait, and followed fifteen years later by Professor Sir
J. J. Thomson. On page 226 he says:
Therefore the great authority concluded that good driving
lies not merely in powerful hitting, but "in the proper
apportionment of quite good hitting with such a knack as
gives the right amount of under-spin to the ball"; and one of
his calculations was to the effect that, in certain
circumstances, a man who imparted under-spin to his ball when
driving it might get a carry of about thirty yards more than
that obtained by another man who hit as hard but made no
under-spin. There would, of course, be a great difference in
the comparative trajectories of the two balls. In the case of
the short one there is no resistance to gravity, and
consequently, in order to get any sort of flight at all, the
ball must be directed upwards when it is hit from the tee,
or, to use a scientific term, there must be "initial
elevation." This may be only very slight, but it is quite
distinguishable, and in fact a player, who is only at the
beginning of his practice, and has little knowledge of the
principles of the game, will generally be found trying to hit
his ball in an upward direction, and by that means will make
it travel farther than it would have done otherwise. On the
other hand, the ball that is properly driven by a good player
is not only not consciously aimed upwards, but, according to
Professor Tait, is not hit upwards. For some distance after
it has left the tee it follows a line nearly parallel with
the ground, and eventually rises as the result of the
under-spin which is forcing it upwards all the time.
We may pause here to consider a few of the statements in this
remarkable passage. I may say again that the idea of driving a ball
with the "proper apportionment of quite good hitting with such a knack
as gives the right amount of under-spin to the ball" is simply a wild
guess at what takes place during the execution of a correct drive with
back-spin. The proper playing of this stroke is a matter of very
considerable difficulty, and it is practically a certainty that no
golfer has ever lived or ever will live who could regulate his
back-spin in the drive to any appreciable extent; all that he ever
thinks of doing--all that he is ever likely to do--is to obtain his
back-spin, _and as much of it as he can_.
It is, of course, quite wrong to say that in the ball hit without
back-spin there is "no resistance to gravity," for if there were no
resistance to gravity the ball would be on the earth. However, we know
quite well what is meant, although, when we are dealing with a matter
which is absolutely a matter of science, we do not expect such loose
statements as these. I should probably have passed this remark, but
for the fact that it is emphasised by the statement that in order to
get any sort of flight at all the ball must be directed upwards when
it is hit from the tee, which again, as a matter of practical golf, is
what nine of ten golfers do, although we are told that "a player who
is only at the beginning of his practice, and has little knowledge of
the principles of the game, will generally be found trying to hit his
ball in an upward direction."
It is astonishing how few players, even of quite a good class, are
content to leave the question of elevation entirely to the club. It
probably would be no exaggeration to say that quite ninety per cent of
the players make an attempt, however extremely slight it may be, to
assist the club in lifting the ball from the earth. According to the
best theory in golf, this is quite wrong, for the blow should be at
least in a horizontal direction, which practically it never is, and
preferably in the line of the arc formed by the club head in its
travel through the air on its downward path. The latter case, of
course, would produce back-spin, and a considerable amount of it. The
former would probably produce slight back-spin, but a very slight
amount. However, the very great majority of golfing hits are at the
moment of impact proceeding upwardly, and it is this fact which puts
any idea whatever of the unconscious application of back-spin by the
ordinary golfer quite beyond serious consideration. The amount of
back-spin which is unconsciously applied to the golf ball is
practically negligible.
We see that, according to Professor Tait, the ball which is properly
driven by a good player is not only not consciously aimed upwards, but
that it is actually not hit upwards. Indeed we are told that for some
distance after it has left the tee it follows a line nearly parallel
with the ground and eventually rises as the result of the under-spin
that is forcing it upwards all the time. This statement is not in
accordance with the experience of practical golfers. It is evident
that Professor Tait was under the impression, in which, as I have
stated before and now emphasise, he has been followed by Professor Sir
J. J. Thomson, that the beneficial back-spin in golf is obtained by
the loft of the club. There can be no doubt whatever that if a golf
ball were struck a blow by a golf club having any considerable degree
of loft and proceeding at the moment of impact in a straight line, the
result would be to impart some degree of back-spin, but this is not
what happens in practical golf. At no portion of the travel of the
head of the club in the golf drive is it proceeding in a horizontal
direction, and in the vast majority of cases, at the moment of impact,
even with the very best of stroke players, the club is going upward.
If this were not so it would be impossible for many of our greatest
drivers to get the trajectories they do with the comparatively
straight-faced clubs which they use.
Braid quotes an experiment which was made by Professor Tait in the
course of his investigations with regard to the qualities of
under-spin. It appears that the Professor laid a ball to the string of
a crossbow, the string being just below the middle of the ball, so
that when it was let go it would impart a certain amount of under-spin
to it. When he shot the ball in this way he made it fly straight to a
mark that was thirty yards distant; but when he shot it a second time,
pulling the string to the same extent and laying it to the middle of
the ball so that no under-spin would be given to it, the ball fell
eight feet short of the same mark.
It is impossible to accept such a rough and crude experiment as this
as evidence in any way whatever of the influence of back-spin in the
drive; rather it would seem to show beyond a shadow of doubt that the
extra carry was obtained because the power of propulsion was applied
to the ball at a lower portion, and therefore tended to give it a
greater trajectory. It should be obvious that this result would be
obtained even disregarding the question of back-spin, which in such an
extremely short flight as thirty yards would certainly not have any
opportunity whatever to make such a difference in the length of carry
as that suggested.
It is, however, when we come to deal with questions of practical golf
that we find that the ideas of the late Professor Tait will not bear
looking into.
Braid says:
However, it is well to bear in mind one thing that the
Professor said, "The pace which the player can give the club
head at the moment of impact depends to a very considerable
extent on the relative motion of his two hands (to which is
due the 'nip') during the immediately preceding two-hundredth
of a second, while the amount of beneficial spin is seriously
diminished by even a trifling upward concavity of the path of
the head during the ten-thousandth of a second occupied by
the blow."
Here we have plain evidence of the fact that Professor Tait is under
the impression that there is some particular snap which he calls "nip"
imported into the stroke immediately before impact. We have already
dealt fully with this matter. We remember what Vardon has said in
condemning the idea, and we know that Braid himself has confessed that
he knows nothing about the matter, so it will not seem disrespectful
if we come to the conclusion that we can disregard this vague
statement about the "nip" in the blow. We can then proceed to notice
the really important remark made that "the amount of beneficial spin
is seriously diminished by even a trifling upward concavity of the
path of the head during the ten-thousandth of a second occupied by the
blow." It seems to me that this last statement is absolutely accurate,
and it is the thing which I have always contended for in dealing with
the practical side of golf driving, as contradistinguished from the
purely theoretical, which has been put before us by Professor Tait,
and following him, by Professor Sir J. J. Thomson. It will be observed
that Professor Tait said that the amount of beneficial spin is
"seriously diminished by even a trifling upward concavity of the path
of the head during the ten-thousandth of a second occupied by the
blow."
Some of my readers may remember that when I was dealing with Professor
Sir J. J. Thomson's lecture before the Royal Society in an article
which appeared in _The English Review_ in February 1911, I stated that
what actually did happen was that there took place in practically
every drive at golf exactly this "trifling upward concavity of the
path of the head during the ten-thousandth of a second occupied by the
blow," and that therefore the amount of beneficial back-spin obtained
from the loft of the club was practically negligible.
It is quite clear that Professor Tait was under the impression that
back-spin was got from the loft of the club proceeding in a horizontal
direction, but it is well known now to golfers who give the science of
the game any attention whatever, that back-spin is not obtained in
this manner, and that back-spin so obtained would be practically
ineffectual as an aid to distance, for the loft of the driver and the
brassy is not sufficient, even if the golf drive were played in the
manner suggested, to produce any considerable amount of back-spin. As
we have already seen, the beneficial back-spin in the golf drive is
obtained by the club striking the ball _long before the beginning_ of
the "upward concavity of the path of the head," that is to say, in its
arc _as it is proceeding downwards_ to the lowest point in the swing
from which it then starts that "upward concavity."
I have emphasised and re-emphasised this matter, for it is evident
that when famous men like Professors Tait and Thomson start out with
an absolutely erroneous idea, an idea which is _fundamentally_ wrong,
it is quite natural for less gifted men to be led astray. Braid says,
and it must be remembered that this is in _Advanced Golf_ (page 229):
"So far as I know, it cannot be stated in accurate scientific terms
and figures, and by lines drawn on paper, what is the proper
scientific swing in order to get the best drive." This seems to me,
especially in a book like this, to be a wonderful statement,
particularly when we are dealing with the scientific results arrived
at by men of the greatest eminence, results which I may say have been
known for more than two hundred and fifty years.
There is no doubt whatever which is the best way to swing in order to
get the best drive, and it can be explained in scientific language
and shown by diagram and by figures, and in fact it has been so shown
again and again.
Braid says:
What golfers have done, therefore, in the past has been to
find out gradually which is the best way in which to hit the
ball in order to make it travel far, and thus they have
groped their way to the stances and swings which, if the
truth were known, would probably be set out by science as the
best possible ones for the purpose.
This very well expresses what has taken place. The golfers have
"groped their way" to what they have found out, without a glimmering
of the scientific reasons for doing it, and the consequence is that,
as they got their practice first, and were not informed of what they
were doing by that theory which is the best of all theory, the
concentrated essence of the practice of experts, they have signally
failed to impart their science to those who have come after them.
At page 229 Braid says:
However, there are certain things that the player should know
about his drive when it is right, and which he should aim at
producing, and they have been very well set forth by
Professor Tait as the result of his investigations into the
trajectories of golf balls hit under varying conditions of
club-force, wind, and so forth. One of the first things to
say, and this is really important in estimating their chances
of making certain carries that are constantly set to them in
the course of their play, is that some golfers have a
delusion to the effect that the ball is at its highest point
in the middle of its flight--that is to say, they think that
just about half-way between the point from which it was hit
and the point at which it will touch the ground again, the
ball is at its highest, and after that commences to fall
again. In this belief when they have, say, a 140 yards' carry
to make, they will reckon that their ball must then be coming
down very fast towards the turf, having been at its highest,
some 50 or 60 yards before. They may think in such
circumstances that they ought to hit up a little more and try
to hit harder to make up for doing so. They would be wrong
entirely, and that because they did not know what the
under-spin was that they gave to the ball, or what effect it
had on its flight. Thus in the case just quoted, assuming
that the ball had a total carry of from 150 to 160 yards, it
would be at its highest point when it had travelled about 130
yards, and there would be no occasion to hit up, unless the
object to be carried were very high.
It is obvious that in such a case as that given no practical golfer
would in any way whatever consider the question of the _amount_ of
back-spin on his ball, for he would know that he has no possibility
whatever of gauging its effect in the air in such a shot, and he will
leave that to regulate itself and to act when the ball strikes the
earth.
It is unquestionable that theoretically this may be done, and it is
well known that I am a strong advocate of the use of back-spin, but in
the case quoted by Braid there is nothing whatever to show that the
ball has been played in such a manner as to produce an appreciable
quantity of serviceable back-spin, or that such a method of play is
necessary or advisable.
Braid continues:
The fact is that a well-driven ball that has a total
carry--that is, from the tee to the point where it touches
the turf again, and not the distance of the obstacle that it
clears--of about 165 yards, under normal conditions of wind
and weather, is at its highest about 135 yards from the point
where it was struck, and after that it begins to fall
rapidly. This is chiefly the result of the under-spin which
is given to it when it is struck by the driver in the proper
way, and it shows the importance of under-spin to the golfer,
for if there were none, then all our courses would have to be
shortened, hazards brought closer to the tee, and the
principles upon which the game is played would have to be
altered in many respects. If there were no under-spin, then
the ball would have no help against the force of gravity, and
the result would be that the highest point of its flight
would be half-way between the point from which it was driven
and that at which it alighted.
We see here again strong evidence of the fact that Braid is under the
same impression as Professor Tait, and that is that the back-spin of
golf is obtained from the loft of the club, whereas the loft of the
club has one function, and that is to raise the ball from the earth,
and there will be no particular necessity to alter our courses, for in
ordinary every-day golf, back-spin is practically not used, except
when it is intentionally applied by the golfer by means of the stroke
suitable for its production.
Braid gives a series of diagrams taken from Professor Tait's lecture
which illustrate various trajectories of golf balls driven in varying
circumstances. Many of these are so entirely theoretical that I need
not consider them, but in referring to one of them Braid says:
The ball which has travelled farthest, or rather the one that
has been given most carry, is that which has been hit in the
right way, and to which has therefore been imparted the right
amount of under-spin. This is, in fact, the ideal trajectory
of a well-driven ball. It starts low, rises very slowly and
gradually, the line of flight bending upwards slightly, and
does not come down too quickly after the vertex has been
reached.
This is, on the whole, a sound but very general description of an
accurately played wind-cheater, but the remarkable thing is that
although Braid expresses himself in such terms of admiration for this
particular ball he does not anywhere in _Advanced Golf_ show us how to
produce the stroke which gives this beneficial back-spin. This surely
is a very great oversight. Nor so far as I have been able to see does
he explain clearly how the beneficial back-spin of golf is obtained.
Braid shows clearly by his quotation from Professor Tait's article
that in the Professor's mind was the deep-rooted idea that it was
possible to drive golf balls by a stroke delivered at the moment of
impact in the same manner as is a blow from a billiard cue, but,
needless to say, this is in the golf drive utterly impracticable.
Professor Tait, in his paper, used a considerable number of diagrams
to show that too much back-spin is bad in the drive, but as I have
already pointed out, although this is very well in mere theory, it
does not work out in the slightest degree in golf. It is easy to take
light balloons and give them back-spin and show that it influences
their trajectories to such an extent that they will go behind the
point where they were struck, but a golf ball is a very small, hard,
and heavy thing, and by the time that its back-spin begins to exert
its influence in a marked manner on its flight it has travelled a
considerable distance and the rate of spin will have materially
diminished, so that no golfer need ever be afraid of applying too much
back-spin to his drive.
Braid proceeds:
Of course, as already indicated, the golfer does not know,
and in one sense does not care exactly how much under-spin he
gives to his ball when he drives it, only being aware that he
has given too much or too little according to results, and
knowing also that in either case excess or otherwise was due
to faulty stance or swing--most frequently this--or both. In
the present case of this high trajectory, the exact amount of
under-spin given to the ball is half as much again as that
given to the properly driven ball, and under the same normal
conditions these would be the relative flights of the two
balls.
Now it is obvious that if Professor Tait was under the impression
that the beneficial back-spin of golf was obtained merely from the
horizontal blow delivered through the centre of the ball's mass, so
that the ball took some slight spin by its roll up the face of the
club, he had no very accurate idea of the rate of spin of that ball at
the moment it left the face of the club, so that any attempt whatever
on his part to measure the respective rates of spin of the different
flight of these balls must be received with very great caution. As a
matter of fact the rate of spin of the golf ball at the moment it
leaves the club in a well-played drive with back-spin would be
immeasurably faster than anything supposed by Professor Tait, who
based his calculations on the ball obtaining this back-spin _from the
loft of the club_, which is undoubtedly a grave error, and Braid
wholly subscribes to this error, which is not to be wondered at, for
Professor Sir J. J. Thomson, one of the most eminent scientists, has
fallen into the same trap.
Professors Tait and Thomson and James Braid talk much about the
possibility of obtaining too much back-spin in the drive. This is
scarcely theoretically possible in golf, and it is practically
impossible. I will give an example taken from practical golf which
will, I believe, quite convince any golfer that the possibility of
obtaining too much back-spin in the drive need never be considered.
Let us imagine a very badly sliced ball. By a badly sliced ball I do
not necessarily mean an extremely quick slice where the ball leaves
the line of flight to the hole quite suddenly, nor do I mean a ball
pushed away to the right of the line to the hole; what I do mean is a
ball which has been so sliced that it takes a tremendous curve from
left to right, beginning to develop that slice in a pronounced manner
at, say, half to two-thirds of its carry, which is quite bad enough
for a slice. We frequently see in such a case, particularly on a windy
day, and even on a still one, the great power which the spin has to
deflect the ball from the line to the hole. It must be remembered that
in this curve the spin is assisted by gravity--the ball is falling
much of the time as it is being edged away--and even then it will be
apparent that it is easy to get much greater spin in the slice than it
is in the wind-cheater, for the simple reason that in the slice one
has an unrestricted cut across the ball, whereas one has not this
opportunity with the wind-cheater, for one hits the ground immediately
one passes the ball.
Now although it is possible to apply an infinitely greater cut to the
slice than one can possibly do to the wind-cheater, the deflection
from the line, except on a very windy day, is, comparatively speaking,
gradual. That is to say that if, for the sake of argument, the
trajectory of the slice could be turned upwards there would be no
possibility whatever of the ball showing such a thing as a curl
backwards towards the hole, which is shown by Professor Tait and,
following him, by Professor Thomson. This is clearly so in any slice
which is not an extremely exaggerated specimen, so it stands to reason
that in the wind-cheater, where one's opportunity for applying cut is
so restricted, and where the ball in its effort to climb upwards has
to fight the direct pull of gravity, there is no possible chance of
applying too much back-spin to the ball.
At page 239 Braid says: "It may be of interest to mention that
Professor Tait found that a well-driven ball turns once in every 2-1/2
feet at the beginning of its journey." If Professor Tait found that a
golf ball, obtaining this back-spin in the way in which he thought it
did, turns "once in every 2-1/2 feet at the beginning of its
journey," he would probably have found, if he had realised how
back-spin really is obtained, that the number of revolutions at the
moment that the ball is leaving the club are at least three or four
times as many as he asserted. It is unnecessary to enlarge upon the
fact that this would mean a lifting capacity infinitely beyond
anything that Professors Tait and Thomson ever ascribed to back-spin
in the drive.
Braid continues:
We have so far only been considering the effect of the
spinning of the ball in the case of long shots with wooden
clubs. As a matter of fact, and as suggested at the outset,
it has also very great influence on the play in the case of
the shorter shots with iron clubs, as may be understood after
a very little consideration of the circumstances. It is the
excessive under-spin that is given to the ball by the angle
at which the face of the club is laid back, and the peculiar
way in which the stroke is played, that make the ball rise so
quickly and so high in the case of a short pitched approach,
and then make it stop comparatively dead when it comes to the
ground again.
It is obvious here that Braid is under the impression that the loft of
the club is largely responsible for the back-spin in the approach
shots, but this is quite an error, for not one player in a hundred
does apply back-spin to his lofted approaches unless he has been
specially taught how to do it, for, curiously enough, the more lofted
the club is, the greater chance is there that the player will at the
moment of impact impart into his stroke that little bit of "upward
concavity" which Professor Tait says, and truly says, is the enemy of
back-spin. The fact is that very little under-spin, or, as I always
prefer to call it, back-spin, is obtained from the loft of the club
unless the blow is delivered as the club is travelling downward. That
is the whole essence of the secret of back-spin, but it is not
mentioned by Professors Tait or Thomson, or by James Braid. Any
attempt whatever to obtain back-spin from the loft of the club will be
practically useless. It must be obtained by the method of playing the
shot, and the only way to obtain it effectually is to hit the ball
before the club has arrived at the lowest point in its swing. By this
means, and this means alone, is it possible to obtain the beneficial
back-spin of golf, and I cannot say too often or too emphatically that
anyone who trusts to the loft of the club to produce back-spin will be
disappointed.
Braid seems to have a glimmering of this, for he says:
However much a club were laid back it would be impossible to
play these shots properly if no under-spin were given to the
ball, and it seems to be a great advantage of having the
faces of iron clubs grooved or dotted that it helps the club
to grasp the ball thoroughly while this under-spin is being
imparted to it, so that the full amount is given to it, and
none is wasted through the ball slipping on the face.
This is unquestionably sound mechanics. But even here, although Braid
is so close to the heart of the matter--although he says, as I have
shown repeatedly in many places, that "however much a club were laid
back it would be impossible to play these shots properly if no
under-spin were given to the ball," thus stating explicitly that
something more remains to be done to produce back-spin than merely to
hit the ball with a lofted club,--he does not get really to the
essence of the stroke and show that it must be played by the club _as
it is descending_.
There is a very important matter which Braid refers to in this chapter
on the science of the stroke. Speaking of the follow-through and the
impact, he says:
One or two other calculations that were made by Professor
Tait may be briefly mentioned at the close of this chapter,
each of them seeming to convey an idea to the golfer. The
first is, that owing to the speed at which the ball leaves
the club, the total length of time during which ball and club
are in contact with each other is between one five thousandth
and one ten thousandth of a second, and the total length of
that part of the swing when the two are together--the length
of impact--is half an inch. It has been pointed out that it
by no means follows from this that because the time and space
of impact are so short that follow-through is of no real
account, after all, in the making of the drive. When the
follow-through is properly performed it shows that the work
was properly done during that half an inch of the swing that
was all-important. If the follow-through were short and wrong
it would indicate that the work during the impact was wrong
too. What it comes to is this, that it is impossible for any
man to swing his club round with so much force and regulate
exactly what he will do, and be conscious of the fact that he
is doing it as he regulated, during such a short space of
time as from one five thousandth to one ten thousandth of a
second. That is quite clear. What the golfer has to do, then,
is to make sure that his swing is right at the beginning,
that is, in the back-swing and the down-swing, and also in
the follow-through. He knows from instruction and experience
that if all these things are properly done the ball will go
off well; and what it amounts to is that the beginning being
right and the end being right, control being exercised over
each, the middle is right also, though in this case there is
no control over it.
This quotation emphasises strongly the fact which I have always
insisted on, that the matter of impact with the golf ball is an
incident in the travel of the head of the club, and that it is
practically impossible for the player to consciously perform anything
which will affect the flight of the golf ball during impact. Braid has
insisted upon this in other places, and it should quite settle any
idea which many people have, of juggling with the golf ball during
impact, but it is a remarkable thing to see James Braid claiming that
at the moment of impact there is "no control over" the swing although
there is both in the downward swing and the follow-through! I need not
criticise this.
The point, however, which I wish to refer to here specifically is in
connection with the follow-through. Braid says, finally:
What the golfer has to do, then, is to make sure that his
swing is right at the beginning, that is, in the back-swing
and the down-swing, and also in the follow-through. He knows
from instruction and experience that if all these things are
properly done the ball will go off well; and what it amounts
to is that the beginning being right and the end being right,
control being exercised over each, the middle is right also,
though in this case there is no control over it.
This, it seems to me, is a very bad presentment of the case. Although
we admit that the impact is merely an incident in the travel of the
club head, it is the most important incident, and it is on that
incident that the mind should be concentrated, so that the idea of
cumbering one's mind with any thought of the follow-through is very
bad golf. The only portion of the stroke which should be on the
player's mind at all is that which leads up to impact, for it is
obvious that if that has been correctly performed, one need not
trouble much about the follow-through, as that will come quite
naturally. Also we will observe that Braid says here "control being
exercised over each." This, of course, includes the follow-through
over which Braid now speaks of exercising control, but it will be
fresh in our minds that in describing the moment of impact, he says
"Crack! everything is let go," and that really is what should happen
after impact has taken place. There should be no thought whatever of
the follow-through. That should produce itself, if one may so
express it, and the player who encumbers his mind by any thought
whatever as to how his club is going to end is simply adding another
anxiety to his game.
[Illustration: PLATE XIII. J. SHERLOCK
This plate shows Sherlock's stance and address in his
favourite iron-shot. He addresses the ball so that it is
nearly opposite his right heel.]
Braid explained most graphically how the follow-through should be
allowed to take care of itself, so that I cannot understand why he
should now endeavour to split his pupils' mental idea of the golf
stroke into halves with the golf ball in between. This is surely a bad
conception of the stroke, and one which is likely to lead the pupil
into grave error, for it shifts his mind forward on to the finish of
the stroke, whereas it has no business to be anywhere else but on the
ball.
Before concluding this chapter I must refer to what Braid has to say
with regard to a topped stroke. At page 238 he says:
A final thing to remember in connection with this question of
the rotation of the ball is, that when the ball is what we
call topped, the stroke is applied in such a way that a
motion exactly the reverse of under-spin is applied to it,
that is to say, the front part of the ball is made to move in
a downward direction. On the principle already explained,
there is then an extra air-pressure upon that ball from the
top, pressing it down, so that even if the ball that is
topped is somehow got up into the air from the tee, as
happens, it cannot stay there long, but comes down very
suddenly--"ducks," as it is called. However, a ball that
ducks for this reason nevertheless gets some benefit from
this over-spin when it does come down, for the spin acts in
just the same way as "top" does in the case of a billiard
stroke, that is to say, it makes the ball run more. If there
were no rough grass and no bunkers between the tee and the
hole this over-spin might be an exceedingly useful thing, and
the principles upon which the game of golf is played might be
entirely different from what they are; but as there is rough
in front of the tee, and generally a bunker at no great
distance from it, topping and over-spin are more frequently
fatal than not, the ball coming to grief either in the rough
or the bunker.
This quotation makes it quite evident, I think, that James Braid is
not very well acquainted with the principles which govern the flight
and run of the golf ball. If this were his "knowledge" which we are
considering, I should be more loath to deal with it so plainly as I am
doing, but as he expressly states that he is indebted to another for
much of his "knowledge" on this subject I have no hesitation whatever
in criticising it and showing that it is absolutely impracticable from
a golfing point of view.
It is not too much to say that top-spin has absolutely no place in
golf, for it is there utterly useless, and would be so were golf links
like billiard tables, for no ball with top on it can travel any
appreciable distance through the air, and to speak of a ball being
driven with top is simply to show one's utter ignorance of the game,
for even if there were no rough grass and no bunkers between the tee
and the hole, this over-spin could never be "an exceedingly useful
thing," nor could it ever, by the greatest stretch of one's
imagination, alter the principles upon which the game of golf is
played, for no stroke in golf could ever supplant the drive with
back-spin.
It is nonsense such as this which does much harm to the game. To speak
of the possibility of over-spin being such that the "principles upon
which the game of golf is played might be entirely different from what
they are if the course had no rough grass and no bunkers" is one of
the greatest absurdities which I have ever seen put in any book, and
when one finds matter of this sort in a book called _Advanced Golf_,
it calls for the severest possible criticism.
The nearest approach to top-spin which exists in golf is the spin of
the pull, and there because the axis of spin is turned over to a
certain extent, we get the beneficial run at the end of the drive,
but anyone who knows the first principles of the flight and run of the
ball would know that if the golfer in his drive obtained pure top
instead of this much modified over-spin, his drive would be entirely
ruined, for the thing which produces the low flight of the ball is
that the ball does its ducking sideways, if we may so express it, and
the chances are that quite frequently the shock of landing alters the
plane of its spin, so that it is converted into pure running, but this
latter point, of course, is a matter which we can only theorise about
and regard as almost proved from the nature of the run of the ball on
many occasions.
We need not here bother about top-spin. The only place where top (not
top-spin) is of any use in golf, so far as I can remember, is on the
putting-green, and there it is unquestionably useful, and it is not
used so much as it should be. The point of outstanding importance,
which I venture to think is made fairly clear by this chapter on the
flight of the ball, is that the beneficial back-spin of golf is by far
the most important spin which it is possible for a golfer to apply to
his ball, and that that spin is not obtained in the manner stated by
Professor Tait and, after him, by Professor Thomson, but is obtained
by the method which I have indicated, viz. by a downward glancing
blow, and, so far as regards this statement, we have the corroboration
of James Braid to the extent that he says that "no matter what the
loft is upon the club, it is impossible to obtain by loft alone the
back-spin which one requires in golf."
It may seem that I have been unnecessarily emphatic in dealing with
this question, but as a matter of practical golf it is absolutely
impossible to lay too much stress upon the value of a complete
understanding of the method of obtaining this most valuable and
serviceable spin, and unless a player most perfectly understands the
theory of the stroke, it is the greatest certainty possible that he
will waste many years of his life endeavouring to acquire the
practice, whereas if he knows perfectly well what he is trying to do,
he may acquire it in as many months as he would otherwise waste years
in not getting it.
CHAPTER XI
THE GOLF BALL
It is remarkable, when one considers the vast number of scientific men
who play golf, how little attention has been directed by them to the
form and make of the golf ball. Many golfers are under the impression
that the golf ball which is now used represents the limit of man's
inventive genius. Probably the leading maker of the best feather ball
in the days before the gutta-percha ball was known would have thought
the same. As a matter of ascertained fact the vast majority of golf
balls which are made to-day are imperfect in a variety of ways. There
can be no doubt whatever that the ball which is marked by what are
commonly called pimples, or bramble marking, is a most imperfect
production.
If one were to suggest to a billiard player that it would improve the
run of the balls if they were covered with little excrescences similar
to those which are on many golf balls, he would be pitied or
maltreated, yet Mid-Surrey greens are not many removes from a billiard
table, and putting is quite half the game of golf, as I think has been
remarked by a great number of people, but is nevertheless not
sufficiently considered by golfers, especially in the matter of
choosing golf balls.
It is not necessary, in considering the question of the golf ball, to
bore people, as is usually done, with the history of the evolution of
the golf ball, from the time when prehistoric men used a knuckle bone
or something like that, right down through the feather ball period up
to the present time. It will not be necessary for me to go back any
further than the period of the gutta-percha ball. Most golfers will
remember that the guttie was not a perfectly smooth ball; it was
marked with grooved lines running round it. These crossed each other
at various angles, producing, generally speaking, squares, although,
naturally, some of the markings, where the lines did not cross at
right angles, were irregular, but the principle of the marking was by
indentation.
The bramble marking, or marking by excrescence, is an idea which has
obtained a hold more recently, and it is certain, from a practical and
scientific point of view, that it is a very imperfect marking.
It is a curious thing that in golf, where a very great amount of
accuracy is demanded, particularly when one is playing a short put on
a fiery green, the ball should be, so far as I am aware, the only ball
which is deliberately constructed on principles which if applied to a
billiard ball would make the ball what billiard players call "foul,"
that is, a ball which runs untruly.
It is unquestionable that sufficient thought has not been given to
this matter. Very few people understand that it is practically
impossible to place a ball with bramble markings on a perfectly true
surface so that it will remain in the exact place where it was put,
even if it were deposited on this spot by mechanical means. It is not
hard to understand that this is natural when we remember that a golf
ball which is marked by the excrescences called pimples or brambles
comes to rest on a tripod of excrescences, and indeed it sometimes
requires to find a base of four of these excrescences before it
settles down.
Any thinking golfer will be able to understand very easily that this
must make for instability, and he will see clearly what it means when
a ball is rolling very slowly. Let us imagine, for instance, that a
golfer is playing an approach put of twenty yards. It is evident that
while the main force of the blow is behind the ball it will enable it
to overcome much of the untrueness of the ball, but it is equally
apparent that as the force is dying away at the critical time when one
wishes the ball to run truly on its course to the hole, it is most
prone to waver. It is at times like this that the golfer blames the
"beastly green," whereas if he knew as much as he should about the
make of a golf ball he would know that he had only himself to thank
for playing with such an extremely imperfect thing as the golf ball
which is marked by excrescences.
It is of course clear that on a putting-green the ball with
excrescences sinks into the turf, and whilst it is running with any
considerable force behind it, it makes for itself what may be termed a
trough to run in, which is equivalent in depth practically to the hole
which the ball would make when lying at rest on the green. This is the
only thing which saves the ball marked with excrescences from being a
much worse failure than it is. It is, however, when one comes to put
with it over a hard, keen, or bare green that its wonderful
imperfection is shown.
Many golfers, on account of the fact that an ordinary putting-green
does assist this imperfect ball to this extent, are inclined to
maintain that the ball is sufficient for the needs of golf. They
forget, of course, that a ball with these excrescences must
necessarily be more inaccurate off the face of the putter than would
be a ball marked by indentation, for when a ball is marked by
indentation, either of the dimple pattern, which has come into vogue
more recently, or of the lines which were used in the old days, it
undoubtedly will run more truly than if marked by excrescences, for
the reason that the indentation is bridged in such a manner that it is
not felt to the same extent as is an excrescence.
I may illustrate this by applying the marking of an old guttie to a
billiard ball. Let us consider for a moment that the billiard ball has
been marked by having lines sawn in it similar to those on a
gutta-percha ball; these lines would not affect the trueness of the
running of a billiard ball to a very great extent. But let us, on the
other hand, imagine that instead of lines being sunk in the ball,
these lines had been put in a network on the ball, so that they were
raised from the surface of the billiard ball. It is obvious that such
a ball would be absolutely impossible, and it would be an extremely
foul-running ball.
There is another point to be considered in connection with this matter
of marking by indentation or by excrescences. It would be almost a
matter of impossibility to stand a ball marked by excrescences so that
it balanced on the point of one of the pimples. On the other hand it
would be perfectly natural for a ball marked by a dimple of
corresponding diameter to the base of the pimple, to come to rest on
the "ring" formed by that dimple. We have already seen that the ball
marked by excrescences requires three or four of those excrescences to
rest on before it becomes stationary. Roughly, therefore, the
instability of the ball marked by excrescences is at least three times
as great as that of the ball marked by indentation, and if we
contrast the ball marked by excrescences with the ball marked by the
old gutta-percha marking, the difference would probably be very much
greater against the bramble marking.
We have already seen that the putting-green assists, to a certain
extent, to make up for the defects of the ball with bramble marking,
but it must not be forgotten that although the putting-green does
this, the greater tendency to instability is there the whole time, and
must put the golfer who uses the bramble-marked ball at a
disadvantage.
Putting, especially near the hole, is a very delicate operation, and
it is apparent that in many cases the blow will be delivered on the
point of one of these excrescences. It is equally apparent that in
many cases that excrescence will not be in such a line with regard to
the putter that the force of the blow will pass clean through the
centre thereof, and also through the centre of the ball's mass in a
line to the hole. When it does not do this it is certain that there is
an element of inaccuracy introduced into the put (particularly the
short put) which the wise golfer will not have in his stroke, for not
only is the ball with excrescences more inaccurate off the face of the
putter, but it is, particularly for short puts and on keen greens,
much more inaccurate in its run than is the ball which is marked by
indentations.
This question of hitting one of the pimples of the golf ball might be
considered to be theoretical, but it is a matter of the most
absolutely practical golf, and I have seen the force of it exemplified
not only in golf, but in lawn-tennis. I must give here a very
interesting illustration of the point which I am making.
Some time ago a lawn-tennis racket was produced which had a knot at
the intersection of the strings. The idea of this knot was that it
would enable the racket to get a better grip on the ball, and so to
produce a much greater spin. This, to a certain extent, was correct.
There was no doubt that the racket did get a very good grip on the
ball, although personally, as a matter of practical lawn-tennis, I
never regarded the invention very seriously; but it was useful in
emphasising the point which I am now making with regard to the marking
by excrescences of the golf ball. It was found that when one attempted
to play delicate volleys with this racket that it was impossible to
regulate the direction, for the simple reason that the ball, on many
occasions, was struck by one of the knots on the racket, and this
frequently spoilt the direction of the stroke.
What happened with that racket and the lawn-tennis ball is what is
happening every day on hundreds of greens with the golf balls which
are marked by excrescences, and the golfer who is wise will have
nothing whatever to do with any ball which is marked otherwise than by
indentations.
It was in the year 1908 that I first put forward these ideas in an
article in _The Evening Standard and St. James's Gazette_. I had
written many articles which were of much greater importance to the
game from the scientific point of view, but this particular article
eclipsed them all in interest. I had started the idea that the golf
ball should be made much smoother than it was at that time, and for
four months the controversy as to the merits of the rough ball or the
smoother raged. I caused the leading manufacturers of golf balls to be
interviewed. The manager of Messrs. A. G. Spalding & Bros., the
well-known manufacturers, gave it as his opinion that the idea was
perfectly ridiculous. He was quite convinced that the rough ball was
the better ball. The manager of another company was of opinion that
the smoother ball would not drive straight. Many of them traced this
to the fact that a smooth ball would not fly straight, but we were not
concerned with the question as to whether the smooth ball would fly
straight or not; golfers, generally, are well aware of the fact, and
even in 1908 were well aware of the fact, that a perfectly smooth ball
will not fly straight. The whole point of the discussion was to
ascertain if it would not be better to have a much smoother ball than
that with the bramble marking.
I was interested in having the opinion of the golf ball manufacturers,
for I have never thought that they have dealt with the matter in a
scientific manner. It seemed to me that the evolution of the marking
of the golf ball had been entirely haphazard, and it is, I believe,
still in the same condition, but it certainly shows some signs of
improving.
In order to put the matter beyond doubt I asked Mr. Rupert Ayres, of
the famous firm of F. H. Ayres, Ltd., to have made for me a golf ball
with an extremely fine marking; in fact I gave instructions for the
ball to be marked with what I considered the least possible
indentations which were likely to be serviceable. Mr. Ayres took a
very great amount of trouble in connection with this matter, and he
produced for me a ball similar, in all respects, to that which I
wanted, with the slight exception that the marking was finer than I
had desired. The result was that when the ball was painted the
interstices were filled up to a very considerable extent, so much so
indeed that I doubted if the ball was sufficiently marked to ensure
its flying correctly. I tried this ball at Hanger Hill, both
personally and by submitting it to a considerable number of drives by
George Duncan, and it always gave unsatisfactory results--indeed its
flight was so remarkable that it might well have been christened "the
butterfly." It zigzagged and soared and ducked in a most remarkable,
and to a very great extent, inexplicable manner.
I knew, of course, that what I had to do was to increase the
indentations a little in depth, for my object was to obtain the mean
between no marking whatever and the ridiculously exaggerated marking
by excrescences which is now so common, and my experiments were not in
the direction of obtaining any marking whatever by excrescences, for I
was following on the lines which were accidentally discovered by those
who found that the old feather balls, and particularly the
gutta-percha balls, flew better after they had been indented by the
golf clubs. My idea, therefore, was, starting from the least possible
indentation, to proceed by marking the ball more deeply and yet more
deeply until I found that it would fly as accurately as a ball marked
by excrescences.
Mr. Ayres helped me in my experiments with remarkable patience and
ability. I found that there are a hundred and one different markings,
all of which are practically of equal service in so far as regards
affecting the flight of the ball, but in every case I came to the
conclusion that the marking by indentation is the best. This led me to
get Mr. Ayres to produce for me a ball which he ultimately put on the
market under my name, which was marked in identically the same manner
as the old guttie. I believe "The Vaile" was the first rubber-cored
ball with the old guttie marking to be placed on the market, and this
marking was found to be satisfactory in every respect. The ball, as
indeed one might imagine, both flew and ran perfectly, but it was met
by golfers with a strange objection. They said it was too much like
the old guttie. Personally, I did not care what they said about it. I
had not caused the ball to be made from any commercial interest I had
in the matter.
It had been stated that a ball marked like this would not be so good
for golf as a ball marked with excrescences. I had proved beyond a
shadow of doubt that the ball was better for golf than the ball which
was marked by excrescences, and I was content to leave it at that,
although as a matter of fact later on Messrs. Ayres did produce for me
a ball with a more distinctive marking which gave us equally good
results in so far as regards flight and run, but which I did not like
nearly so well as the old guttie marking.
At the time this ball was produced I stated emphatically that I
believed that the result of the agitation and discussion would be to
knock the pimples off the golf ball. This statement was, of course,
ridiculed by the makers of golf balls, and quite wisely too, for they
had tens of thousands of pimply golf balls which they had to dispose
of, and it was not their business to agree with my ideas of altering
the make of the golf ball until they had disposed of their stock. They
have, however, now no prejudice whatever in the matter, and the
leading manufacturers both here and in America are pushing balls which
are marked by indentation. They certainly were a long time after my
manufacturers in realising the importance of the principle, but they
are now endeavouring to make up for lost time. One firm, Messrs. A. G.
Spalding & Bros., is pushing three balls as their leading lines. These
are the Glory Dimple, the Midget Dimple, and the Domino Dimple. All
these balls are what are now called dimple balls, and they meet with
great favour in many quarters, although there are still a number of
golfers who swear by the bramble-marking.
During the course of this long controversy I suggested that it would
be a good idea if the balls which were marked by excrescences and
those which were marked by indentations were subjected to a test by
being mechanically propelled. Sir Ralph Payne-Gallwey, the famous
wild-fowler and author of _The Projectile Throwing Engines of the
Ancients_, wrote to me and very kindly volunteered to carry out the
experiment if I would send him the balls I wished him to test. I
naturally accepted his very kind offer, and sent him a variety of golf
balls to be tested. Sir Ralph is the possessor of some very remarkable
catapults built on the principles of the old Roman engines of war, and
with these he conducted a series of experiments, which were so
interesting that they deserve to be permanently recorded for the
benefit of future generations. His conclusions were published in two
articles which occupied about three columns of _The Times_, and they
are of such an instructive nature that I propose to quote somewhat
fully from them.
Sir Ralph showed quite clearly that in a very great number of cases
the centre of gravity of the ball is untrue. Quite a number of golfers
would think that it is not a matter of very great importance if the
centre of gravity of a golf ball is untrue. Anyone who thinks this may
speedily undeceive himself by a small experiment suggested by Sir
Ralph. Let him cut a hole in the side of a golf ball, insert a piece
of lead or half a dozen shot and fill the hole up with wax or soap and
then put with that ball. He will be astonished to find what a peculiar
course it takes.
Of course, not many golf balls are loaded like this, but it is beyond
any doubt whatever that in many cases the gutta-percha covering of
the rubber-core is of very uneven thickness. This in itself and quite
apart from the defect of marking by excrescences which I have already
referred to, is sufficient to account for the very bad running of many
golf balls.
I may say, too, that I believe this untrueness of the centre of
gravity is responsible for the double swerve which one frequently sees
in a truly hit golf ball. A swerve which is obtained from the
application of spin to the golf ball, almost invariably is continuous
and in the one direction, but I have frequently seen well-hit drives
by the most famous players swerve to the right, back again to the left
and resume their original course. This has happened with such perfect
regularity in many cases that there must unquestionably be a definite
reason for it, apart from rotation applied by contact with the club,
and the only explanation which I can give of it in any way at all is
that it is caused by an untrue centre.
The shape, resiliency, and centre of gravity of the golf ball are of
vital importance to the player, but the golfer accepts all these
matters with a blind faith which is touching in the extreme. A golfer
should not accept from a golf ball manufacturer a ball which is not
truly spherical, or one which does not fly truly when truly hit, but
as a matter of fact almost fifty per cent of the golf balls supplied
by the leading makers come within this category. One may take fifty
golf balls of any specific sort, and test these for shape, centre of
gravity, and weight, and it is an even chance that twenty-five of them
will be quite different from the other twenty-five.
It is very easy indeed to test the rubber-cored balls as regards the
correctness of their centre of gravity. Sir Ralph Payne-Gallwey found
that none of the rubber-cored balls was correct as to its centre of
gravity, though some were much more incorrect than others, and he
found that not one of them was truly spherical in shape. I may say
that in a large number of cases I have verified his experiments. Sir
Ralph Payne-Gallwey's method of testing them for correctness of centre
of gravity is so simple that I may give it here for the benefit of any
player who desires to see that he is getting a ball which will serve
him truly in so far as regards this important particular.
Sir Ralph placed the ball which he desired to test in a basin of water
and waited until it came to rest. When the ball had come to rest,
there was naturally a small portion of it protruding from the water.
Sir Ralph marked the centre of this spot with a pencil dot and he
found that however carelessly he put the same ball into the water,
however much it was rolled about, that the portion of the ball marked
with the pencil dot always came upwards out of the water again, and
that the actual spot with the pencil mark on it always came to exactly
the same place. It was evident from this that the centre of gravity of
the balls tested in this manner was considerably untrue.
Sir Ralph found, as might be expected, that the old guttie ball was
much truer as regards its centre of gravity than the rubber-cored
balls. He tested the gutta-percha ball and the miniature ball which
would not float in plain water, in a solution of salt and water.
The experiments which he conducted in connection with these balls were
really quite exhaustive. He found that with some of the balls,
especially the smaller ones, the dot appeared in two seconds, while
some of the others took from four to six seconds to come upward. He
arrived at a comparative idea of the error in centre of gravity by
placing the dot downwards in the water, and then noting with a
stop-watch the time occupied by it in appearing out of the water on
top of the ball. He thus took the time in each case from the moment of
release to the moment that the pencil dot again came uppermost, and by
these means he obtained as accurately as he could with a stop-watch
the comparative error of one ball with another in regard to its centre
of gravity.
The testing of the balls for true spherical shape was, of course,
easy, and was done by means of callipers. It can be done either by
callipers or by a parallel vice which may be opened just wide enough
to allow a ball to be passed between its jaws. If one has not a vice
or callipers available, it is, of course, easy to cut a circle in a
piece of cardboard and gradually increase the size of the circle until
a ball will just get through. The circle, of course, must be made
truly, but this can easily be done by a pin and a string if compasses
are not available.
Of course, it would be advisable in testing a golf ball through a ring
such as this to obtain in the first case a ball which is as near a
true sphere as any rubber-cored ball can be. This may be done by
fixing any two objects in a similar position to that suggested for the
jaws of a vice, as for instance the opening of a drawer. One may open
a drawer and fix the drawer firmly so that the ball can just pass in
at the opening. Once this is done, it is almost as effectual as either
callipers or the jaws of a vice.
Sir Ralph found that the gutties were as near true spheres as
possible, and also that these balls showed very slight error in centre
of gravity. This, of course, from the solidity of the matter and their
original formation in the mould might naturally have been expected,
for in the nature of the modern ball it stands to reason that its
centre of gravity could never be so consistent as that of a ball which
is made entirely in the one piece as was the old gutta-percha ball.
Sir Ralph has some remarkable projectile engines which gave him
exceptional facilities for testing the flight of the golf balls which
I sent him. He has one engine which weighs about two tons and is
capable of casting a stone ball of twelve pounds a distance of a
quarter of a mile. The catapult which he used for the purpose is a
small reproduction of this big engine. His small model of this engine
weighs about forty pounds and will pitch a golf ball from 180 to 200
yards, the distance of course depending upon the amount of tension
used and the angle of elevation.
The power of the engine is obtained from twisted cord, and the arm of
the machine used by Sir Ralph is two feet eight inches long, and is
provided with a cup at its upper end to hold the ball. It is so
arranged that the balls can be thrown any intermediate distance
required up to 200 yards, and at any elevation. Sir Ralph conducted
experiments with balls thrown by the catapult, and also with balls hit
away by it in a manner similar to a golf club, and, as might be
expected, no spin whatever was imparted to the ball. It was thrown in
a straight line every time with unvarying accuracy, and there was not
the slightest sign whatever of slice, pull, or cut. This, of course,
is exactly what one who knows the principle of the catapult would
expect.
Sir Ralph found, however, that the accuracy of flight of the ball was
very remarkable, and he gives as an instance the fact that a ball
which had been marked as having a particularly accurate flight was
pitched twenty times in succession within a few feet of a stick stuck
in the ground 180 yards from the machine.
It is interesting to note the weights of the balls used in these
experiments. They varied from 22 drachms to 23 drachms avoirdupois,
and their diameters from 53 to 54 thirty-seconds of an inch. The
guttie ball used by Sir Ralph weighed 24-1/2 drachms, and one of the
miniature balls 24 drachms 6 grains. Sir Ralph threw a dozen balls of
various makes from his small engine at a mark 160 yards distant, and
he threw each ball twenty times before another was tried. He employed
a fore-caddie to mark the indentations each ball made where it fell. A
peg was put in at the spot where each ball landed, and these distances
were all subsequently measured, and the records kept for purposes of
comparison.
After this had been done with one ball the same was done with another,
and it is almost unnecessary to say that the angle of elevation and
the force used in each case was the same. Sir Ralph found that in
propelling the balls with the wind there was very little difference in
the length of carry or the steadiness of the flight, though, as might
have been expected, the guttie beat all of them in distance, being six
times in its first series of twenty throws a few yards farther than
the longest carry made by any of the other balls. This, of course, was
quite natural, for the old guttie was heavier, harder, a more correct
sphere and more correctly marked than the ball which is now in common
use. Therefore it was quite reasonable to expect that it would go
farther when propelled from the catapult. It is, of course, just as
easy to understand that this superiority would not exist when the
ball was struck with a golf club, for then the question of resiliency
comes into the matter.
It is interesting to note that Sir Ralph found that the miniature golf
ball more nearly approximated to the guttie than to the rubber-cored
balls. The miniature being harder and heavier than the other
rubber-cores, when thrown by the engine gave the longest flight of all
the rubber-cores, although it did not get so far as the guttie. Its
superiority, however, when struck from the engine in a manner as
nearly as possible resembling the blow with a golf club, was
non-existent, and its carry was then found to be the shortest of all
the rubber-cores, and the guttie ball was, when hit away by the
machine, shorter yet than the miniature golf ball.
Sir Ralph found, as I had confidently asserted would be the case, that
against the wind the balls with the roughest markings always carried
the shortest distance, and that they tended to rise too much in their
flight. This was most apparent at about two-thirds of the carry. Sir
Ralph found that there was a distinct difference in this matter of
soaring between the very roughly marked balls and those which were a
little less so. He proved to demonstration the fact which I had
confidently maintained, that the less roughly marked balls, owing to
the small amount of air friction which they set up, and naturally in
consequence thereof, their lower parabola, always carried farther
against the wind.
I have referred elsewhere to Harry Vardon's remark about not
attempting to regulate the flight of the ball in a cross wind, or
indeed, for the matter of that, in any other wind by applying spin to
it. Sir Ralph Payne-Gallwey's experiment put this matter beyond a
shadow of doubt, so that we may be absolutely certain that the idea of
trying to slice against a wind to get a straight ball, or to pull into
a wind to get an extra run, is for ninety-five per cent of players not
practical golf. Sir Ralph found that with a fresh side wind from the
left, all the balls, except the guttie, landed from eight to twelve
yards to the right of the mark at a range of 130 yards. He states
emphatically that in this case it was clearly shown that the more
roughly marked balls consistently showed the greatest deviation from
the correct line of flight. We have, however, gained a very strong
argument in favour of the ball with the less pronounced marking.
Sir Ralph also discovered another thing which is of very great
importance indeed to the practical golfer, but a thing which is not
considered in the slightest degree by one golfer in ten thousand, and
that is that the balls which were most untrue in regard to their
centre of gravity, not only always dropped the farthest to the right,
that is, were most affected by the cross wind, but that they also ran
at a more acute angle in the same direction after contact with the
ground. Thus we see that in 130 yards the most roughly-marked ball in
a cross wind is deflected twelve yards. We see also that this ball was
the one which was most incorrect as regards its centre of gravity. We
therefore have a specimen of the worst ball which could be used for
this purpose being carried twelve yards off its line, and we may
reasonably take this to be the extreme of error for that distance.
It is easy to understand when we consider such an illustration as this
what a tremendous handicap the golfer is suffering from when he uses
the ball which allows the wind to get such a grip of it as the
bramble-marked ball does, and moreover one with a centre of gravity
which is so bad that it assists the work of the wind in carrying the
ball away as it does, and not only assists the wind to this extent,
but even carries its vices to the extent of still further fighting
against the player by exaggerating its error when it lands by running
away from the line.
These are all bad enough, but we must remember that there is also to
be considered the error which is unquestionably a matter to be
reckoned with, which inevitably takes place when the ball marked by
excrescences is struck by a club.
I had sent Sir Ralph Payne-Gallwey the ball which I had had made for
experimental purposes with very slight marking, and he was good enough
to experiment with this for me. He says of it: "This ball was quite
smooth, as smooth indeed as a billiard ball, the idea being that
having no markings on its outside it would not present so frictional a
surface to the air in its flight, as a ball with markings, and that
being without this it would also be very accurate from the putter. I
tried this smooth ball from the engine, and it 'ducked' every time in
an extraordinary manner, its length of carry being seldom more than
eighty yards."
Sir Ralph is most accurate, generally speaking, but he is in error by
stating that this ball is as smooth as a billiard ball. The ball which
I sent Sir Ralph was called by me "The Ruff," merely as a distinctive
name, for it was the nearest approach to a perfectly smooth ball that
I could make. It is evident from Sir Ralph Payne-Gallwey's description
of it that it is, as compared with the golf balls now in use, very
smooth, but it is pitted all over with remarkably small indentations
so that it appears to be chased, but, as I explained, the paint to a
certain extent covered up the interstices so as to prevent the ball
giving me the test which I expected to get from it. It is, however,
not accurate to say that this ball is perfectly smooth.
It is obvious that from this I was trying to work to the mean which I
felt perfectly certain existed between the old golf ball, whose
erratic flight was well known, and the modern golf ball with its
exaggerated marking.
Sir Ralph thought that the form of this ball might not, for some
unknown reason, suit a projectile engine. He continues:
... and as I could not drive it further than about eighty
yards with a golf club, I engaged the well-known
professional, Edward Ray, to play a round of the green with
this ball at Ganton. As Ray is an exceptionally long and
accurate player with driver and cleek I felt the ball would
have a fair chance of going, if it could go. From the first
tee the ball did not carry a hundred yards, though, to all
appearances, struck clean and hard. I thought that for once
in a way Ray had missed his drive, but as the same thing
occurred from every tee and through the green for the next
six holes, there was no disputing that a smooth ball was
quite useless for golf.
I then proceeded to nick the ball slightly with the point of
a knife, spacing the small raised nicks about one-third of an
inch apart, the ball being still a very smooth one in
comparison to any of the usual kinds. After this slight
alteration the ball flew splendidly, whether off wood or iron
clubs, neither too high nor too low, but quite straight, and
with the very slight rise towards the end of its carry that
is the essence of perfect flight in a golf ball, some of the
carries when measured from the tee being well over two
hundred yards.
Sir Ralph Payne-Gallwey continues that when he returned home he shot
this ball from the small engine, and it then several times
out-distanced the best records made by any of the balls previously
tested. After this he chipped up many more little raised nicks on the
same smooth ball as a further experiment, but he then found that this
not only reduced its length of flight by several yards, but also
caused it to soar too much upwards when projected against a head wind
as is the case with the ordinary rough-marked golf ball.
It will be seen here that Sir Ralph continued with the ball sent by me
to him, the experiment, which I had started, as it was my intention to
proceed from a ball as nearly as could be, smooth, towards the present
exaggerated ball, by the least possible steps, so that the moment that
I had arrived at a ball so marked that it would not give me any extra
carry, I should desist at once.
Sir Ralph's summing up is as follows. He says: "From such practical
tests it is evident that the surface of a golf ball is far too rough,
and that it would fly with more accuracy and farther, especially with
a head or a side wind, had it much less numerous and prominent
markings on its cover." This is exactly what I contended for in my
original article on the subject, and it is exactly what has to be
realised by the makers of the golf ball of the future. Many of the
balls which are now being produced with the dimple marking are moving
in the right direction, but they still have the grave errors of bad
centre of gravity and excessive marking. When these two matters have
been adjusted we shall have a very much better ball.
It will be interesting now to refer to the results which Sir Ralph
Payne-Gallwey obtained when he fitted his catapult with an arm
provided with an enlarged head similar in shape to the head of a golf
driver. Sir Ralph says:
This striking arm hit the ball away just as it is hit by a
golf club. The ball I suspended by gossamer silk from the
projecting beam of a little gallows fixed over the engine,
and so positioned that the enlarged upper end of the arm
struck the ball fair and true and with its full force and at
the same angle every time.
I was not present when Sir Ralph made these experiments. He, however,
was kind enough to send me a copy of his most interesting work
entitled _The Projectile Throwing Engines of the Ancients_. This book
gives many illustrations of the catapults used by the Romans and
others.
I find it somewhat difficult to follow Sir Ralph Payne-Gallwey when he
says: "This striking arm hit the ball away just as it is hit by a golf
club," for it seems to me that as the ball was suspended above the
striking face of the club which was fixed to the upper end of the arm,
that the arc described by the arm of the catapult would be exactly
opposite to that described by the head of the golf club, and it is of
course conceivable that this would in some way affect the carry of
golf balls struck by the machine in this manner.
I need not, however, go into that here, for whatever the results
obtained by Sir Ralph Payne-Gallwey were each ball was hit in exactly
the same manner, and therefore we have, in so far as regards distance
and the effect of the side wind, fairly accurate comparative tests.
Sir Ralph says: "Though I could not obtain the same length of carry by
making the engine strike the ball as I could when the ball was thrown
by it--not by about fifteen yards--yet the individual results in
distance and in deviation with a side wind exactly corresponded with
the behaviour of the various balls when they were thrown and when
carries of from 180 to 200 yards were obtained from them."
Sir Ralph found that in this experiment the carry of the guttie was
invariably about eighteen yards shorter than that of the ordinary
rubber-cored balls. He therefore carried out an interesting experiment
by fixing a pad of rubber on the face of the head of the arm, and the
guttie, when struck by this, travelled as far as any of the balls. He
found, as I have previously indicated, that of the rubber-cored balls
the small one carried the shortest distance when struck by the engine,
and he found also that its length of flight was not increased by using
the rubber pad. This, of course, is what we might have expected.
There is one very interesting matter which Sir Ralph Payne-Gallwey
notes. He says: "Another curious thing, the ball with the most untrue
centre of gravity usually made one, and occasionally even two, swerves
in the air when hit against the wind, though this eccentricity in its
line of flight was less noticeable when it was thrown from the
engine." This is a very interesting statement to anyone who devotes
attention to the flight of the ball, and it goes very far indeed to
confirm my own impression that the double swerve of the golf ball
which I have noticed so frequently, is produced by defective centre of
gravity.
[Illustration: PLATE XIV. J. SHERLOCK
Top of swing in iron-shot. Note the position of the ball, and
the upright swing of the club.]
These experiments are of very great value, and should be carefully
noted by golf ball makers, but Sir Ralph Payne-Gallwey was not content
with testing the golf balls for their flight. After having put in
several days doing this, and having fired fully 500 shots, he
continued his experiments with these balls with the object of
ascertaining their relative merits on the putting-green. He says:
I obtained a piece of lead three-quarters of an inch thick,
two inches wide, and three feet long, in which I cut a
straight and smooth groove one inch wide. One end of this
piece of lead I rested on the cushion at the baulk end of a
billiard table, and directed its other end towards the spot
on which the red ball is placed in the game of billiards.
The forward end of the grooved lead I tapered off so that a
ball ran evenly and smoothly from the groove on to the table
without any drop or deviation as it left the piece of lead,
which from its weight, when once set, could not change its
position. I now placed a thimble on the spot at the far end
of the table and rolled an accurately-turned wooden ball the
same size as a golf ball down the sloping groove. After a
little adjustment of the lead piece its line of fire was
correct, and I was able to knock the thimble off the spot
fifty times in succession. The ball travelled with sufficient
speed just to reach the cushion beyond the thimble when the
latter was moved aside, and the shot at the thimble nicely
represented a slow put of eight feet in length.
This is a most interesting way of testing the golf ball. I may say
that I have myself carried out experiments on similar lines, and that
the results which I obtained practically confirm the accuracy of those
which Sir Ralph Payne-Gallwey got. He found that on testing various
golf balls the results were widely different. He tried each ball
several times in a series of twenty tries at the thimble. He found
that individually they seldom hit it more than three or four times in
a series, and that some of the balls, particularly those which he had
found to be incorrect so far as regards their centre of gravity,
rolled away from the thimble as much as two feet to the right or left,
and that they sometimes actually went into the corner pockets of the
table. This would seem to be incredible, but I can vouch for the
accuracy of Sir Ralph Payne-Gallwey's statements.
It is an amazing thing to think of, but it is perfectly true, that the
modern golf ball is so badly constructed that in a straight roll down
the middle of the table such as that described by Sir Ralph
Payne-Gallwey, the ball will absolutely roll as far off the line as
the corner pockets, and indeed sometimes farther even than this. That
is what the golfer has to contend with when he tries to put with a
bramble ball on a golf green, but, of course, as he does not know it,
he blames himself for an off day, or the green for being "beastly,"
but he never by any chance whatever gives a thought to his horribly
defective golf ball.
Sir Ralph says that the guttie was a notable exception to the
inaccuracy of the rubber cores. He found that in its different series
of twenty tries it often struck the thimble from fourteen to fifteen
times, and when it missed was usually within an inch of the mark. This
shows clearly the wonderful difference which I have already emphasised
between marking by indentation and marking by excrescence. Sir Ralph
also emphasises a point to which I had already directed attention as
to the ball marked by excrescences running truly when hit hard. It is
when the ball has no great propulsive force behind it that its
inherent vice is most surely shown. Sir Ralph says:
Any of the balls if played fairly hard from a cue could be
made to strike the thimble every time; but then such a hard
hit ball would go far beyond the hole in golf, and probably
overrun the putting green! The smooth billiard-table cloth
may be taken to represent the hard, bare and fast putting
green of a dry summer.
That is a very fair comparison, with the exception that the hard, bare
and fast putting-green of a dry summer would present infinitely
greater inaccuracies to the already sufficiently inaccurate golf ball
than would the billiard table. Let the unthinking golfer ruminate a
little on this subject, and the day is not far distant when we shall
never see such a thing as an excrescence on a golf ball.
Sir Ralph was very ingenious and thorough in his experiments. He
desired to obtain the nearest possible approximation which he could to
a natural putting-green, so he stretched a strip of rough green baize
on the billiard table and tested the balls on this. He made a chalk
mark on which to place the thimble, and its distance from the lead
gutter was the same as in his other experiments. He then found that
the balls, with the exception of those which had been marked as having
their centre of gravity much out of place, ran with far greater
accuracy. Most of them hit the thimble from eight to ten times in
their individual series of twenty shots, but the guttie was, as usual,
an easy winner. Sir Ralph found that on the billiard table if the
balls were played fairly hard from a cue, although too hard for golf,
the thimble could be knocked over every time.
I consider that these experiments prove beyond a shadow of doubt, as I
personally never doubted, that the ordinary bramble-marked golf ball
will not run truly unless it has a considerable amount of force behind
it, and that for short puts, and particularly on anything like a fast
green, it is a most treacherous ball. Sir Ralph Payne-Gallwey says:
All this goes to prove that, although a ball may be of
inaccurate make, it keeps its line to near the end of its
course when hit hard along the ground, as for instance, in a
long running up approach to the hole from the edge of a
putting green. It is also clear that a ball with an incorrect
centre of gravity will very seldom run true off the putter if
the ground is hard, fast and smooth and the distance it is
required to travel is only a few feet. For this reason
manufacturers should consider the accuracy of a ball for
short puts--accuracy that can only be gained by making it a
perfect sphere with its centre of gravity in the exact centre
of the ball; for short puts must lose many more matches than
short drives.
As Sir Ralph Payne-Gallwey truly says, with a badly balanced ball the
easiest of short puts may fail, especially on a downward slope, though
the player rarely suspects that his ball and not his skill is to
blame.
It is not, as I have already pointed out, only the question of the
badly balanced ball which is of such vital importance in short puts,
but it is the question of the untrue running of the ball marked by
excrescences; also there is the equally important matter, which I have
referred to, of the untrueness of the ball marked by excrescences in
coming off the face of the putter. I am firmly convinced that there is
no more perfect marking for a golf ball than that used for the old
guttie ball, that is a marking by indented lines, but even here I
believe that equally good results, both in flight and run, would be
obtained if the gutta-percha ball were marked in a similar manner but
with fewer lines.
Some of Sir Ralph Payne-Gallwey's conclusions are important. He
suggests that a golfer should carefully test a ball before using it in
an important match, and this is, unquestionably, from a scientific
point of view, a very sound and good suggestion. I have already
indicated his method of testing a ball for its centre of gravity, and
I have shown how the ball may be tested for its spherical shape. There
is no necessity to apply any test whatever to the ball in so far as
regards its marking. There is one maxim with regard to that--avoid
anything in the shape of a golf ball marked by excrescences.
Sir Ralph Payne-Gallwey's advice to golfers with regard to the balls
need not be given here in full, valuable as I believe it to be in the
main. But there is one matter which is worth repeating. He says:
Select a ball with as smooth a cover as you can find, for
though all golf balls require to be roughened in order to
steady their flight, those most deeply scored travel the
shortest distance, and are most affected by a head or side
wind.
This is very sound and important advice, and it should receive the
attention not only of golfers, but of the golf ball manufacturers, for
even those balls which are now marked by indentation are, in my
opinion, too freely marked, and I am inclined to think that the
dimples on the golf balls which are so marked, are, if anything, too
large and too frequent. I think it is extremely probable that the
balls which are so marked would fly and run better than they do now if
they were marked by lines as the old guttie was marked, but with fewer
of these lines. Probably if they were marked with one-third of the
number of lines which were used on the old guttie, we should have a
perfect flying and running ball.
Before closing this chapter on the make of the golf ball, it will be
interesting to refer once again to the results obtained by Sir Ralph
Payne-Gallwey when throwing the smooth ball from his machine and also
when having it driven by Edward Ray. He obtained results similar in
all respects to those which George Duncan and I obtained when trying
"The Ruff." It is very curious indeed that so far there have not been
any definite scientific experiments made to show exactly where the
serviceable degree of roughness ends and the prejudicial begins,
though much has certainly been done since I started the controversy
about the relative merits of a smoother ball.
Some golf ball makers have gone so far as to produce a dimple ball
with a small pimple in the dimple. This, in effect, reduced the dimple
to a ring, and these balls have been found to fly and run very well,
but all that has been so far done has been a matter of experiment, of
rule of thumb work. I do not think that there is a firm of golf ball
makers in England which is in possession of a proper mechanical
driver. We are assured that at least one firm in America is in
possession of such a machine, but so far as I am aware there is no
efficient machine of such a nature in England. This is very
remarkable, as with such a machine a firm of golf ball manufacturers
could obtain results which would probably give them a big advantage
over their competitors.
I was quite astonished to see it stated by a firm of golf ball makers
the other day that, although they were making a ball marked by
indentations, they had come to the conclusion after much experimenting
that the bramble pattern was the best for all-round excellence. In the
face of the remarkably conclusive experiments conducted by Sir Ralph
Payne-Gallwey, whose results I may say bore out up to the hilt
everything which I had said about the defective construction of the
golf ball, I should like to know how this manufacturer comes to the
conclusion that the bramble marking is the best.
One point which has not been made very strongly is that it was not
necessary for the old balls to be badly knocked about before they
would fly well. Comparatively little damage improved the flight of the
ball. This, in itself, should be sufficient to convince manufacturers
that they are still in many ways marking their balls excessively. It
is quite evident that no particular kind of marking is required on the
golf ball, although it is conceivable that a certain kind of marking
might possess some slight advantage over another. It would be
interesting if an exhaustive set of experiments on the lines of those
already conducted by Sir Ralph Payne-Gallwey could be carried out
under proper supervision by some eminent scientist or by a leading
firm of golf ball makers, or by some prominent paper interested in
golf. The matter would undoubtedly be of very great interest to
golfers generally, and would probably result in a great improvement of
the balls at present on the market.
The phenomenon of the uneven flight of the smooth golf ball has never,
so far as I am aware, been satisfactorily explained. We all know, of
course, that practically nothing which has not a tail flies well. A
tail is necessary for an arrow, for an aeroplane, for a bird to steer
itself with, and even the rifle bullet would not fly well until it
was, in effect, provided with a tail. It has always seemed to me that
there was a possibility of an explanation of the defective flight of
the smooth golf ball in this fact. It stands to reason that in the
passage of the ball through the atmosphere there is a considerable
compression of the air in front of the ball, and it is equally obvious
that this compressed air is, if we may so express it, flowing
backwards over the ball, and therefore running between the bramble
markings. Of course, we are aware that it is not really a question of
the air flowing backwards, but of the ball driving through the
atmosphere, but we have merely to consider what may possibly be the
effect of this action.
It seems to me that the air, in passing back and round the ball in the
manner described, is also in a state of compression until it has
passed backwards and, to a slight extent, behind the golf ball, so
that we have, if we may so express it, attached to the ball a tail of
compressed air which is constantly striving to resume its normal
density at a slightly varying distance behind the ball in its passage
through the air.
If my idea, which is expressed now in an extremely unscientific and
popular form, is correct, it would seem that the roughened ball holds
more straightly into this tail of compressed air than it would be
possible for a smooth ball to do; in other words, it seems to me that
there would be a greater possibility of the smooth ball slipping the
pressure which would be accentuated on that portion of the ball which
Professor Thomson describes as its nose, and it seems feasible,
although I do not care to be dogmatic on this point, that if the
centre of gravity of the smooth ball were untrue, as indeed the centre
of gravity of nearly every smooth ball is, the effect of the pressure
of the condensed air on the front of the ball would be much more
pronounced with the smooth ball than it would in the case of the ball
marked by excrescences or indentations.
I am aware that this idea of mine is open to argument, and I do not
say for one moment that it is absolutely correct. It is undoubted that
there is much uncertainty in the minds of extremely scientific men as
to the cause for the uncertain flight of the smooth golf ball. Even so
distinguished a scientific inquirer as Professor Sir J. J. Thomson
assured me that he did not understand the reason for the erratic
behaviour of the smooth ball. There is possibly another explanation,
but again I put this forward tentatively. Even when a ball is driven
by a golf club without appreciable spin, as indeed most golf balls
are, it seems to me quite possible, especially in the case of the
balls with defective centres, that before they have gone far on their
journey they will proceed to acquire spin on account of the tendency
of one side to lag more than the other.
It seems, then, that if this spin is set up in the manner which I
described, it may, and indeed quite likely will, influence the path of
the ball sufficiently to deflect it from the original line of flight,
but as this spin has no very great power behind it, it seems quite
likely that when it has deflected the ball from the line of flight it
may be checked to such an extent that the atmosphere has a chance to
get to work on the ball again and produce that which is practically a
reverse spin. In this way, and in this way alone, can I see any reason
for the double swerve which I have already referred to, in the carry
of the golf ball. It must be understood that in the case of double
swerve which I am referring to, the deflection from the straight line
has always occurred at a point in the carry where one would not expect
to see it if it had been occasioned by spin administered by the club,
and it is always very much less indeed than the swerve would be if it
had been obtained by spin produced by the club.
Also there is this other fact against the hypothesis that the swerve
is produced by spin imparted at the moment of impact. In the swerve
which I am referring to, both the first swerve and the return swerve
which takes the ball back again into the line of flight are very
slight, and in most cases practically of the same length and degree.
If the original deflection from the straight line were due to rotation
of the ball acquired at the moment of impact, the swerve and return to
the straight line, if there were any such return, would never be so
symmetrical as they are.
I can quite easily understand the double swerve of a golf ball from
spin produced by the contact between the club and the ball, although I
must admit that I have never seen a swerve of this nature in golf
which I could put down unhesitatingly to spin acquired at the moment
of impact. I must, however, when I say this, except one instance. This
was in the case of a ball hit with back-spin, and although it is in a
sense improper to refer to it as double swerve because it only
affected the trajectory and did not alter the plane of the ball's
flight in any way, it was, in a sense, a case of double swerve. It was
a wind-cheater struck by a very good player at Hanger Hill. The ball
flew very low and looked as though it was about to hit a bunker, when
suddenly, on account of the tremendous amount of back-spin which the
player had put on his ball, it rose with the ordinary rise of the
wind-cheater and soared straight away for thirty or forty yards, when
it began to tower in the ordinary manner of the wind-cheater. This was
such an extraordinary shot that I illustrated it in _Modern Golf_, but
I have never, in the course of fifteen years' acquaintance with the
game, seen another shot of the same description.
There is no doubt whatever that double swerves may be obtained by the
axis of rotation of the ball altering during the flight of the ball. I
can remember quite clearly at a meeting of the All-England Lawn-tennis
Club at Wimbledon, a player informing me quite seriously that a
lawn-tennis ball would swerve two ways in the air. At that time I was
under the impression that I knew all there was to be known about the
flight of the ball. I did not contradict him, but inwardly I pitied
him; but at the same time I made up my mind to watch for this
phenomenon, little as I expected to see it, for in the course of at
least seventeen years' practical acquaintance with the game of
lawn-tennis wherein one has a splendid opportunity of observing the
action of spin on the ball, I had never seen, or perhaps it would be
more correct to say I had never observed, any ball swerve two ways.
It was not many days after this that I distinctly saw an American
service, delivered by one of the players in the All-England
Lawn-tennis Championship, swerve two ways. Since then I have looked
for this phenomenon, and I have seen it happen both in lawn-tennis and
golf, but I am satisfied that in golf it is not due to spin acquired
at the moment of impact, as undoubtedly it is in lawn-tennis. It seems
to me that with the lawn-tennis ball, which offers a very large
frictional area in proportion to its weight, that it is quite feasible
that during its travel, particularly in the American service, it may
alter its axis of rotation on account of encountering a heavier bank
of air, or for some other reason. It naturally follows that
immediately this takes place the arc of the original swerve is
interfered with, but in no case have I seen in lawn-tennis, as I have
in golf, the original swerve of the ball exactly compensated for by
the swerve back into the straight line, which is the peculiarity of
the double swerve at golf.
There is no doubt that there is a considerable amount of mystery in
this matter. It may appear that it is not of much importance to
golfers, from a practical point of view, whether it is solved or not,
but it is hard indeed to say how useful a proper understanding of the
higher science of the game may be in the practice of it; and in the
experiments carried out by Sir Ralph Payne-Gallwey with so much
patience and ability we have a very good example of the value to
golfers of the scientific investigation and consideration of matters
appertaining to the various implements of the game.
CHAPTER XII
THE CONSTRUCTION OF CLUBS
In my last chapter I dealt with the construction of the golf ball. In
many respects the golf club is more perfectly made than the golf ball,
although it is, of course, hard to compare two objects so entirely
dissimilar. In making the comparison I am, however, thinking mainly of
the amount of exactness which has been brought to bear on the
manufacture of the respective articles in so far as they have
developed in accordance with the best of modern thought. It cannot be
denied, however, that from a mechanical point of view, the golf club
is still a very imperfect implement, for the simple reason that the
striking point of the club is not in a line with the handle. This, of
course, is, from the point of view of one who desires to obtain the
maximum of strength and accuracy, a glaring fault. It has been
remedied to a very considerable extent in the Schenectady putter, to
which I shall have occasion again to refer.
Golf is a very old game, and, as I have shown, it has been simply
festooned with the cobwebs of tradition, and in no respect, probably,
is this truer than it is in regard to the golf club. Originally,
almost every implement made for playing a game by striking a ball was
curved or so crooked that the ball was struck off the line of the
shaft. The cricket bat was originally a crooked implement, so was the
lawn-tennis racket, lacrosse, and even the billiard cue, but these
have all been straightened, so that at the moment of impact the ball
is in a straight line with the handle or shaft of the striking
implement. It would indeed seem exceedingly strange to see a batsman
furnished now with a curved bat, but that, in effect, is what we have
in golf. It is certain that to obtain the best result from one's
strength, it is necessary that the forearm, the ball, and the shaft of
the striking implement shall be, at the moment of impact, in one and
the same straight line or plane. This is a fundamental rule in
athletics which is too much ignored by many players, both at
lawn-tennis and in golf.
Ignoring this principle in lawn-tennis has cost England her
supremacy--not only, indeed, has it cost her her supremacy, but it has
relegated her to the back ranks of the world's lawn-tennis players;
for instead of having the handle of the racket and the forearm in one
and the same straight line at the moment of impact, the English
player, both with the forehand and the backhand, introduces between
his racket and his forearm a considerable angle. He thus, instead of
confining his force to one line, diffuses it over a triangle, and
causes the weight of the blow to fall on his wrist in such a way that
it offers least resistance.
The golf club, although naturally to a less extent, embodies this
fundamental error in mechanics, for instead of hitting the ball dead
in a line with the shaft, it gets it in the middle of the face which
projects from one side of the shaft. A moment's reflection will show
that this is a very imperfect method of striking the ball.
It will, of course, be said by the slaves of tradition that it is a
horribly revolutionary thing to suggest any alteration in the shaft of
the golf club, but it must be borne in mind that the golf club has to
go through a process of evolution before it will become perfect, also
that it has for generations past been going through a process of
evolution which has materially altered its structure. Originally the
head of the golf club was much longer than it is now. Gradually the
head has been shortened so that the point of impact has come nearer to
the shaft, and no less an authority than Harry Vardon has said that
this tendency is well justified, for one can undoubtedly obtain
greater power and accuracy the nearer the blow is brought to the
shaft.
Following Vardon's reasoning to its logical conclusion, we have very
little difficulty in arriving at a decision that we could undoubtedly
obtain better results if we struck the ball in a line with the shaft.
This seems at first glance a revolutionary idea, but, as a matter of
fact, it is nothing new in the game of golf. The old St. Andrews
putter, which had a pronounced curve in its shaft, was so built that
if the line of the upper half of the shaft were continued it would run
practically on to the centre of the face of the club. The lower
portion of the shaft curved very considerably. Sometimes, indeed, this
curve was spread over almost the full length of the shaft. The object
of this curve, which I may say is even now in the handle of all
scientifically constructed wooden putters, is to bring the hands in a
line with the point of impact at the moment of striking, but in this
year of grace, 1912, we find the Royal and Ancient Golf Club barring
on its own links, but, as it states now, _nowhere else_, such a well
known and proved club as the Schenectady putter.
The Schenectady putter is not a centre shafted putter, and in my
opinion is open to several grave objections, for it is made with a
head shaped on the general principle of the wooden putter, which it
resembles more than it does the ordinary metal putter. I have a rooted
objection to any putter which has a broad sole, for it is simply
importing into the stroke an unnecessary element of error. If the
swing is untrue, there is much greater risk of soling with a
broad-soled putter than there is when one is using one of the metal
putters.
I have besides this two other objections to the Schenectady putter. It
does not go far enough, in that it is not a centre shafted putter, and
therefore the point of impact and the shaft are not in the same
straight line; and thirdly, the shaft enters the head of the club some
distance back from the face of the club.
Some years ago, when in America, I invented and patented the "Vaile"
clubs. These are centre shafted clubs and they are built exactly on
the principle of the time-hallowed St. Andrews putter. For example,
the only difference between the "Vaile" putter and the revered St.
Andrews putter in principle is that in my club, instead of spreading
the curve over the full length of the handle, I have gathered it all
at the neck, and instead of allowing the shaft to run into the head of
the club, as in the Schenectady, some distance from the face of the
club, I have turned the neck away in a curve to the heel of the club,
so that the club is much more like the ordinary golf club than is a
putter built on the lines of the Schenectady. The same principle is
used in the wooden clubs.
Now it is absolutely incontestable that this principle is
scientifically more accurate and will deliver a stronger blow than the
golf clubs which are at present used. James Braid in 1901 said of this
putter:
I consider this putter very good for direction, as, the shaft
being practically centred, you get the effect of the driver
headed putters with inserted shafts, without losing the
advantages which the ordinary putter head possesses over the
large headed clubs. The principle, from a scientific point of
view, is certainly right, and I have no doubt that any player
who suffers from bad direction will find this a valuable
club.
In passing, I may draw attention to the fact that James Braid himself
considers that the ordinary putter possesses advantages over the large
headed clubs, and I think myself that there is very little doubt that
this is so for the vast majority of golfers. Arnaud Massy, in his
recent book _Le Golf_, says of my clubs: "Certes, au point de vue
scientifique, cette théorie est inattaquable." Notwithstanding the
opinion of three such men as Vardon, Braid, and Massy on a matter of
practical golf like this, the Royal and Ancient Golf Club of St.
Andrews has declared that my clubs are illegal on their links, but in
response to questions which they have been asked with regard to this
matter they assert that the club is barred only on the links of the
Royal and Ancient Club!
It seems a very great pity that this famous Club should have taken
this action with the Schenectady and the Vaile, for it has undoubtedly
led, as I pointed out in _The Contemporary Review_ for August 1910,
would be the case, to the passing of the great Club as a world power
in golf. It is impossible for any club or body of persons to stand in
the way of the progress of a great game such as golf, and anybody or
any club endeavouring to do so must inevitably, as I clearly indicated
at the time, pay the penalty for doing so.
I have very little doubt that in the future, and at a by no means
distant date, golf will be played with clubs constructed on an
infinitely more scientific principle than those which are now used.
It is quite plain to anyone who gives the matter a little thought that
the longer the head of the club the greater must be the inaccuracy in
the stroke. It stands to reason that the inertia at the toe of the
club is greater than at the heel, and every fraction of an inch which
one goes farther from the shaft must increase the inertia in the head
of the club. It follows quite naturally that if one is using a whippy
shaft, the tendency must be for the head of the club, especially if it
is at all long, to exert a very considerable amount of torsional or
twisting strain on the shaft of the club in the downward swing. It has
been asserted that this torsional strain, by reason of the recovery of
the shaft at the moment of impact, adds something to the force of the
drive in golf, but this is quite an error, as at the moment of impact
the club is travelling at its fastest. It follows, therefore, that if
there is any inertia in the toe of the club, it will be very apparent
at the time when the club is travelling at its fastest, and the result
is that the torsional strain, instead of providing any beneficial
spring at the moment of impact, only tends to lay back the face of the
club and contribute materially towards slicing. It will, therefore, be
seen that it is very inadvisable to have a long head when one is using
a whippy shaft.
I may, perhaps, illustrate this question of keeping the impact in a
line with the striking implement by instancing the sword cut. Most
people have seen at military tournaments the competition known as
lemon-cutting. In this event a mounted man gallops past a certain
number of lemons suspended on strings, and as he passes he endeavours
to sever them with his sword. It will be seen that at the moment when
his sword enters the lemons his forearm and the sword are, in both
cuts, in the same plane, and it seems so obvious as to need no
emphasising that if the line of his blade were even an inch or two off
the line of his forearm there would be introduced into his stroke a
very great degree of inaccuracy, but although this may be so obvious,
it is practically what we are doing every day in golf.
If the golf club were made in such a manner that the point of impact
was absolutely in a line with the forearms at the moment of impact,
tradition, instead of being outraged, would really be honoured. Not
long ago a friend of mine came to me and showed me an old driver,
saying, "I cannot understand how it is, but I can always get twenty or
thirty yards farther with this driver than I can with any other." I
took the club and ran my eye down the shaft. I noticed at once that it
was warped considerably so that it threw the shaft inwards in such a
manner that it resembled very much the shaft of an old St. Andrews
putter--in other words, it put the golfer's hands and forearms in a
line with the shaft of his club and the shaft of his club in a line
with the point of impact at the moment the stroke was played. I
pointed out to him that his club was, in effect, a centre-shafted
club, and that this was the reason why he was getting a longer and, as
he stated, a straighter ball with this club than with any other club
he used.
While I am on this question of the construction of clubs, I may as
well state that under the recent ruling of the Royal and Ancient Golf
Club there is not a legal golf club in use in England to-day, for one
of the essentials of a legal club now is that the head must be all on
one side of the shaft of the club. Passing by, as too technical an
objection, the question as to whether a circular object may be said to
have a side, we are confronted with the fact that many of the
best-known clubs have the shaft inserted in the head. All the socketed
clubs technically are illegal, because the head is certainly not all
on one side of the shaft. Many cleeks are illegal because the shaft
goes through the socket and right through the heel of the club to the
sole thereof, so that a considerable portion of the head of the club
is on the hither side of the shaft, and every ordinary golf club is so
constructed that it is more correct to say that the head of the club,
instead of being all on one side of the shaft, is either at the foot
of the shaft, or at least that there is, without any doubt, a
considerable portion of the head which goes beyond the one side of the
club whereon the head is supposed to be.
It is a very great mistake indeed to attempt to introduce any standard
golf club or to lay down any regulation whatever as to how the golf
club shall be made. The good sense and sportsmanlike instincts of the
golfer should be sufficient to govern the question of what may and
what may not be used. It is an absolute certainty that if any man were
to endeavour to use an implement which was not in accordance with the
best spirit of the game, he would speedily provide his own punishment,
but it is a wonderful thing to find the greatest Club in the world
barring on its own links clubs which embody in their formation the
well-recognised principles of the most revered implements of the game.
The principle which I have referred to of endeavouring to get the
point of impact as near to the shaft as possible is being shown also
in the hockey stick, which has not now anything like so great a curve
in it as it originally had, and the striking-point has been brought
much nearer to the shaft. The tennis racket, as distinct from the
lawn-tennis racket, has stood for many years as a lob-sided
instrument, but about eighteen months ago I was with a tennis player
who ordered from Messrs. F. H. Ayres, Ltd., six straight tennis
rackets, saying that he believed the soundness of the principle which
I am now advocating to be absolutely incontestable and of universal
application in ball games.
I mention this matter because I believe it is of historical interest,
for I do not think that prior to the time mentioned by me, tennis
rackets were ever made straight. We all know how, when aiming a stone,
playing a billiard ball, firing a gun, shooting an arrow, or pulling a
catapult, one instinctively tries to get one's eye into the line of
flight of the object to be propelled. It is evident that one can aim
better thus. This is denied one in golf, where the ball is practically
the smallest played with, to a greater extent than in any other game.
It follows that a greater degree of mechanical accuracy is called for
in golf than is required in other games. Very few golfers realise that
they are deliberately handicapping themselves by playing with the
clubs at present used. The weight and leverage of the head of the club
is on one side of the shaft, and the angle of error is there. True, it
is small, but a very slight initial error in the flight of a golf ball
becomes in 200 yards serious, perhaps fatal. The golf club of the
future will inevitably follow the march of scientific construction,
and fall into line with the straight-handled implements wherewith the
ball is struck in a line with the shaft.
It is clear that at the moment of impact with a golf club, as they are
now constructed, there is a very great tendency for the club to turn
in the hands. This is shown very clearly when one happens to hit with
the toe of the club a little lower than it ought to be, so that the
toe strikes the earth. This is absolutely fatal for the club will be
turned in the hand, but it is otherwise if by chance one happens to
strike the ground with the heel, for as the force of the club is
transmitted in a straight line down the shaft, the blow is very
frequently, particularly with iron clubs, not interfered with to any
very great extent. It is clear that if the club is centre shafted,
greater strength and accuracy are obtained, for the club has an equal
weight on each side of the shaft. There is thus no torsional or
twisting strain on the shaft as there is at present with every golf
club, and, as I have already shown, this torsional strain cannot be
considered as a negligible factor in a club. I must repeat, however,
that it is an error to think that this torsional strain can, by its
recovery, contribute anything to the length of the drive, for the
recovery from the torsional strain does not take place until long
after the impact has ceased and the ball has gone on its way. This, it
seems to me, even from a theoretical point of view, is undoubted, but
I have proved by practical experiment that one can obtain a longer
ball with a centre-shafted club than one can with an ordinary golf
club.
There is another matter in connection with the construction of clubs
which should receive the attention of manufacturers. We know that the
clubs are of varying lengths, descending from the driver to the putter
according to the length of the shot which is required of them. The
difference between a driver and a mashie is frequently as much as six
inches. The difference between a mashie and a putter is roughly, say,
three inches. It has always seemed to me that in proportion to the
work demanded of it the putter does not continue in the decreasing
scale of length as it should, particularly for short puts. Many very
fine putters get quite low down to their put and grip the putter a
long way down the shaft. It is undeniable that for short puts there
is some advantage in this method, but it is open to the objection that
it leaves too much of the shaft free above the hands, thus not only
destroying the balance of the putter, but risking striking some
portion of the player's body with the free end of the shaft.
I believe that the putter should, generally speaking, be made much
shorter, but, if this is not done for approach puts, I am sure that it
would be worth one's while to experiment with a short putter for short
puts. I have had such a putter made for me, and I have no hesitation
whatever in saying that it is a very valuable club and one that should
be better known than it is. It is necessary, of course, to readjust
the balance in such a club, but when that has been done, I firmly
believe that one is very much more accurate with this club than with
an ordinary putter when playing short puts. The putter which I am
referring to is, if I remember, little, if any, more than twenty-six
inches.
While I am on the question of the construction of putters, I may say
that I am inclined to think that all these putters which are made with
heads such as the Schenectady, the ordinary wooden putter, or those
putters with aluminium heads, are a mistake. The sole of the club is
too broad, and to use such clubs as these is simply providing a
greater chance of error. There is nothing which can be done with one
of these large-headed putters which cannot be done as well, or better,
by an ordinary metal putter.
There are many fearful and wonderful putters on the market at the
present time. Lately there has been produced a putter with a very
shallow face, which is now being largely used because a man who has
won the open championship frequently is using it. For ninety per cent
of golfers a putter with a narrow face is a very great mistake, and I
believe that in saying ninety per cent I am fixing the percentage low.
I do not think that any putter should be built whose face is so narrow
that at the moment of striking the ball properly with the putter the
top edge of the putter is below the top of the ball. I am firmly of
opinion that a putter which is so built that it delivers the main
portion of its force below the centre of the ball's mass is absolutely
defective. I go even so far as to say that I believe that in a
scientifically constructed putter the face should be made much broader
than the face of the average putter, and that the weight, instead of
being massed at or near the bottom of the putter, should be reversed,
and put, if anything, nearer the top. The whole essence of true
putting is that the ball shall be rolled up to the hole, and not at
any portion of its journey played with drag, or as one is sometimes
told to do, slid along the green. Any attempt whatever to put with
drag, or by tapping the ball, must cause inaccuracy.
I saw, a short time ago, one of the finest golfers in England, Mr. A.
Mitchell, lose an important match on the putting-green, or, to be a
little more accurate, on quite a number of putting-greens. He was
then, and I believe still is, making the same mistake as James Braid
made when he was such a bad putter, viz. tapping his puts, and
finishing low down on the line after the ball. It is almost impossible
for anyone to be a good putter with this stroke, and his chance of
being a good putter is rendered remoter still if he attempts to do
putting of this nature with a shallow-faced putter.
A putter should have very little loft indeed, if any. It is
questionable, from a scientific point of view, if the putter should be
lofted at all, but in practice a very slight degree of loft is
generally used, and there may be something to be said in favour of
this slight loft if one is playing the put as it should be played, as
nearly as possible by the wrists, for if that is done it stands to
reason that the putter with a very slight loft will tend, in, of
course, an extremely small degree, but still to such a degree as to be
perceptible, to deliver its blow upwardly through the ball's mass, and
this naturally tends to give the ball a truer roll off the club than
would be the case if the putter were perfectly vertical.
If one were using a putter with a vertical face, it seems fairly clear
that at the moment of impact, when one is endeavouring to roll the
ball forward, it is held simultaneously at two points. There must
then, it seems, be some slight dragging on the face of the club and
also on the green, but when the putter has some small loft on it and
the blow is delivered, to a certain extent, upwardly, the ball will
naturally get a truer roll from it, and for this reason perhaps the
smallest degree of loft on a putter is advisable.
Shallow faces and broad soles in putters have nothing whatever to
recommend them, and there is very little doubt that golfers will, in
due course, find this out, and will use a putter so made that it will
carry the weight where it is most wanted, and that certainly is not at
the base of the ball, for, unnecessary as it may seem to mention the
fact, the put is the one stroke in golf which we always desire to keep
as close to the green as possible. We know quite well that in all
other clubs, when we want to get the ball off the ground quickly, we
take a club which has its weight thrown into the sole, but as we want
exactly the opposite thing on the putting-green, it seems reasonable
to think that we should alter the adjustment of our weight when
constructing a putter which has any claim whatever to being
considered a scientifically made club.
I have referred to the defect of the broad sole, and I have in a
previous chapter of this book indicated that the perfect put should
bear as close a resemblance to the swing of a pendulum as the player
can give it. Let us now for a moment imagine that we have as the
weight on the pendulum the head of an ordinary metal putter, and let
us so adjust this metal head that in the swing of the pendulum it will
barely clear a marble slab placed underneath it. Let us now remove the
metal putter and substitute in its place such a club as one of the
ordinary aluminium-headed clubs, or a Schenectady, and hang this club
on the end of the pendulum so that when the pendulum is absolutely
vertical the front edge of the sole of the club clears the slab by
exactly the same space as the metal putter did when at rest. We shall
now find that this club will swing freely back in the same manner as
the metal putter did, but we shall get a very striking exemplification
of the fact that the breadth of the sole of this club will prevent it
swinging forward at all, for the rear portion of the sole will foul
the marble slab. This, of course, is sufficient to absolutely prevent
a proper follow-through, for even when this happens on a good green
the delicacy of the put is such that it is more than likely the stroke
will be ruined.
This is an illustration of what I mean when I say that the golfer is
importing into his game an unnecessary risk when he uses a broad-soled
club. It will be seen from the example which I have given that there
is an infinitely greater danger of soling with such a club than there
is when one is playing with an ordinary metal putter.
The same error with regard to breadth of sole is very frequently seen
in the mashie. Indeed, the sole of the mashie is so broad and taken
back at such an unscientific angle that very frequently the player
strikes with the back edge of the sole before the front. It stands to
reason that when he does this he is cocking up the front edge of his
club, and so robbing himself of a great portion of the loft of the
club. Many players lay the face of the mashie back in order to
increase the natural loft of the club. In nine cases of ten when they
do this, instead of increasing the usefulness of their clubs they
diminish it, for they insist then upon the front edge of the face of
the mashie striking the ball higher up than would be the case if they
played with the club in the ordinary way.
[Illustration: PLATE XV. J. SHERLOCK
Finish of iron-shot. Note carefully the upright finish
following the swing back, and the position of the hands, a
characteristic of the finish of this shot. Sherlock gets a
lower ball than the ordinary iron-shot.]
Most mashies are constructed in a very unscientific manner. It is the
function of the mashie to get as far underneath the ball as possible.
To do this a mashie should always have its front edge very clearly
defined, and almost immediately the sole leaves the front edge it
should begin to curve upwardly--in other words, a mashie should
practically never have a sole. When the mashie is made like this it is
astonishing how much easier and more accurate it makes one's work with
the club. Not only does the curving sole to the mashie allow one to
get more in underneath the ball and prevent any jar of a square edge
behind the front edge of the sole, but if it is a question of taking
turf, which involves cutting down behind the ball, one is able to do
this with a mashie having the sharp edge and the curved sole such as I
describe, much more easily than one could with the flat sole, for the
simple reason that one is enabled to pass the ball on the downward
stroke much more rapidly than one could possibly do with the
broad-soled mashie. It is obvious that in playing a ball with heavy
back cut, the essence of obtaining that cut must be the speed at
which the mashie passes down behind the ball, and it must be also
equally apparent that if one is playing that shot with a club whose
sole is as broad as is that of the ordinary mashie, that the pace of
the blow must be arrested to a very great extent long before the club
has had an opportunity of absolutely clearing the ball. This means
that the club is hampered in the execution of its natural duty.
While I am on the subject of the construction of the mashie, and
particularly with regard to the curving sole, I may mention that I
have such a club. It was made for me in accordance with a
specification which I furnished, but it did not in any way carry out
what I wanted; in fact, my instructions were very much exaggerated,
but the moment I saw that club I knew that it would be, for short
approaches and for playing stymies, a wonderful club; and so it has
proved. It would take a good deal more than its weight in silver to
induce me to part with it, for that club led to the making of history
in golf--in other words, its construction caused me to see the great
advantage which could be got by using it in playing the stymie shot
which I have described in a previous chapter, and it was while playing
this particular stymie shot that I came to the conclusion that for the
usual stymie shot at or about the hole the ordinary mashie is far too
long, as in the case of the short putter, because when one tries to
get down on the club as low as one really ought to do for playing a
shot of the delicacy required in these strokes, one finds that one has
too much free shaft above one's hands. If I had any doubt whatever as
to the advisability of having a short putter for short puts, I have
absolutely none with regard to the benefits which are to be obtained
from having a short mashie for playing close stymies, and I may say
that at the time of writing I have never handled such a club--I have
never seen such a club, nor have I ever heard of such a club, but
before this book is published I shall have one.
Stymies were once upon a time a perfect terror to me, but with the
club which I have referred to, and whose construction was practically
an accident, they are no trouble, and I firmly believe that nine
stymies of ten would be no trouble to a golfer of ordinary skill if he
had the proper club with which to play them, but it seems not
unreasonable, when we consider the descending scale of the clubs which
I have before referred to, to think that a club which we use
frequently to get eighty yards with should not be the most suitable
implement for playing a stroke of nine inches to a foot.
While I am on the subject of iron clubs, there is another matter which
I should like to refer to, and that is that, in my opinion, the
communion, if I may use the word, between the club and the ball is not
as intimate as it should be. In the lawn-tennis ball and racket one
gets a wonderfully firm grip, and it is astonishing with what accuracy
one can place a lawn-tennis ball by means of cut, but the vast
majority of iron clubs which are used are insufficiently and
unscientifically marked. I can remember the time when iron clubs,
generally speaking, were innocent of any indentation whatever on their
faces. Marking is fairly general now on iron clubs, but it is done in
an utterly unscientific manner. It is frequently done by great deep
straight lines, and, particularly in the mashie, nearly always by
lines which run from heel to toe. Now in the great majority of mashie
shots when one is putting on cut one requires lines running in an
exactly opposite direction. We do sometimes see, of course, lines on
these iron clubs running at right angles to each other, but in nearly
every case the marking is too large and too coarse to be of the
practical benefit which it ought to be.
Quite recently I saw a very skilful golfer playing with rusty clubs,
and somebody who did not understand what it meant commented rather
strongly on his untidiness. He did not understand until he was told
that the idea of the man who was using these clubs in keeping them
rusty was that he got a better grip on his ball, and there can be no
doubt whatever that this is the case, but a scientific maker of iron
clubs would not be satisfied to leave it to his customer to make up
for his deficiency by allowing his clubs to become unsightly. He would
produce a club marked as nearly as might be in a similar manner to a
club which was heavily rusted.
I have experimented with various means for establishing a better grip
between the club and the ball, and I have, I believe, found an almost
perfect medium for establishing effective contact. Let us consider for
a moment how little use the cue would be to us at billiards were it
not for the medium of contact which is commonly used; to wit, the
chalk. Now it is inconvenient, and, moreover, would be ineffective to
a great extent, to chalk one's iron clubs in golf, but it is an
absolute certainty that something which answers to the chalk should be
on the face of every iron used in golf. What that is to be we must
leave to the ingenuity of our scientific club makers, but it is an
absolute certainty that we shall see a very great improvement in this
particular matter within quite a short time.
CHAPTER XIII
THE LITERATURE OF GOLF
It will be readily understood by those who have followed me that I
consider that golf has been badly served by those who have essayed to
teach it by books. The main, if not indeed the whole, cause of the
trouble is the manner in which writer after writer has allowed himself
to be influenced by the work of those who have preceded him. This is
neither amusing nor instructive. The essence of progress is research.
We cannot progress in anything by repeating parrot-like the fallacies
of those who have preceded us.
I want to make it particularly plain that this book aims at absolutely
dispelling the fog and mist, the obscurity and the falseness which now
clusters about the game of golf. One dear old chap was explaining to
me how he tries to drive. He said, "When I get to the top of the swing
I have so many things to remember that I get all of a dither and mess
it up hopelessly." Could anyone express it better?
About seventy-five per cent of the golfers who follow the usual
tuition are "all of a dither." The whole trouble is that they are
given too much to think of _during the stroke_. I am certain that the
secret of success in golf is to eliminate the necessity for thinking
_and theorising_ on the links. This, I contend, can be done by
_knowing_, not merely by _reading_, the contents of this book.
So strongly do I feel in this matter that I consider that every
beginner who desires to succeed at golf should know what is here set
out, while every misguided golfer who has been jumping from his right
leg to his left, and putting his left hand in command instead of his
right, should lose no time in getting the truth and so revolutionising
his game.
I have stated in my Preface that this book is a challenge. So, in
effect, it is. It stands for truth and practical golf, instead of the
nonsense which is generally published about one of the greatest and
simplest of games.
I must here refer to a book entitled _Practical Golf_, published by
Mr. Walter J. Travis, the Australian who perfected his golf in America
and won the Amateur Championship of England.
Mr. Travis' book is very interesting in many ways. He calls it
_Practical Golf_, and it ought to be, coming from him, but Mr. Travis
falls into nearly all the mistakes of those who have followed the
time-worn fetiches of the people who handed down to us "the traditions
of golf." I was much astonished at this, for Mr. Travis tells us
himself that he worked out his own salvation, at the same time as he
remarks that "as a general rule the average professional, while he may
be a good player, lacks the faculty of imparting proper information to
beginners."
This, unquestionably, is true, but one cannot expect too much theory
from the professional, who is not, generally speaking, a very well
educated man, but from a man in Mr. Travis' position one has a right
to expect a fairly good grip of fundamental principles. He says that
"All good players work practically on the same basic principles." This
is, of course, right. The trouble is that most good golfers, like Mr.
Travis, work on the same correct basic principles, but advertise to
their unfortunate readers and pupils those which are utterly opposed
to their practice.
Mr. Travis absolutely subscribes to the fundamental but common error
with regard to the distribution of weight. He says at page 30: "In the
upward swing it will be noticed that the body has been turned very
freely, with the natural transference of weight almost entirely to the
right foot." At page 7 he says: "The ease and rapidity with which the
weight of the body and arms is transferred from the left leg to the
right and back again, joined to wrist action--concerning which
reference will later be made--are largely, if not wholly, responsible
for long driving."
It is obvious from this that Mr. Travis thinks that one's weight ought
to be on one's right leg at the top of the swing. It is also obvious
that he thinks he throws his weight about from one leg to another when
he is playing. It is, notwithstanding this, certain that he tells us,
as does every man who writes a book about golf, that the head must be
immovable during the operation of driving. We must wait for Mr. Travis
to tell us how this conundrum can be solved, as none of the famous
golfers of the world have yet been able to do it. If the stance has
once been taken with the weight equally distributed between the legs,
it is impossible, if the head be kept still, as Mr. Travis and
everybody else says it should be, to get the weight on to the right
leg at the top of the swing, but it is not impossible to get it on to
the left leg, where it should be, and where, indeed, it goes quite
naturally.
In speaking about the palm grip Mr. Travis says: "This style is more
affected by cricketers and base ballers, but it is open to the
objection that it introduces a tendency to hit the ball with tautened
muscles, and discourages the proper follow-through."
Personally, I cannot see that there is any objection whatever to
hitting the ball with tautened muscles--in fact, it absolutely must be
done in that way, and in no other, or the result will be dire failure.
James Braid himself says that at the moment of impact the muscles are
in a state of supreme tension, and as a matter of practical golf there
can be no doubt whatever that this is so. Mr. Travis also comes into
line with the general body of golfing opinion with regard to the
fetich of the left. He says on page 14: "As a general rule the left
hand should grip somewhat more firmly than the right." I may say that
Vardon and Taylor do not agree with Mr. Travis, and the mere idea of
putting the left to exert a firmer hold on the shaft is a reversion to
primeval fables.
Mr. Travis tells us, speaking about the waggle: "Do not on any account
in this preliminary address _lift_ the club up. Lifting the club
pre-supposes stiffness and rigidity of muscles and the resultant
stroke cannot be thoroughly satisfactory."
It will be obvious that as the club is at the lowest portion of its
arc it is necessary to lift the club. This is done by an easy action
of the wrists, and the waggle, of course, then becomes a swing worked
almost entirely from the wrists, but it is absolutely essential to
lift the club for the ordinary waggle.
At page 19 Mr. Travis says: "When the top of the swing is reached,
without pausing, bring the arms and body around as swiftly as possible
and _swish_ the ball away." We see here that Mr. Travis is also an
adherent of the fetich of the sweep, but we must in his case call it
the fetich of the "swish." In golf it is now realised that the golf
drive is a hit of the very finest order.
Mr. Travis says at the same page "Do not seek to artificially raise
the left foot on the toe. Strive rather to keep it rooted--the natural
turn of the shoulders and body rotating to the right will bring it up
and around. Keep the right leg as stiff and as straight as possible.
And whatever you do, do not move the head." If one is going to pivot
on the left toe in any way whatever, it is fatal to the rhythm of the
swing to wait until the arms pull the left heel off the earth. The
left heel should leave the earth almost simultaneously with the club
leaving the ball. If this is not done it will be impossible to
maintain the rhythm of the swing. Mr. Travis shows himself in nearly
every case pivoted on the _point_ of his left toe at the top of the
swing. This is now universally admitted to be bad form, as one should
put the weight on the ball of the toe, and forward from that at the
side of the shoe.
It is, of course, possible to play the drive practically flat-footed,
in which case one's swing will naturally be much flatter than the
ordinary swing, but this is not generally done. For those who pivot on
the left toe, Mr. Travis' advice to wait for the arms to pull the heel
up is, I think, absolutely bad. His advice to keep the right leg stiff
and straight is quite good, and, of course, there can be no doubt of
the correctness of his advice when he says "do not move the head," but
will he tell us how, with a perfectly stiff and straight right leg,
and no movement whatever of the head, he is going to transfer his
weight to his right leg? for, as he truly says on page 20, "If the
head is kept still, no swaying of the body can be indulged in."
There is a very remarkable statement on page 20. Mr. Travis says: "Any
doubt as to whether the head is moved may easily be satisfied by the
player assuming a position with the sun immediately at the back of
him, and watching the shadow of the head during the swing. If the
head is shown to move, the swing should be persistently practised
until this fault is remedied." If I were not now writing practical
golf myself, I might suggest putting in a peg on the ground to watch
whether one's shadow impinged on this peg or not, but as a matter of
practical golf if I considered anything of this nature necessary, I
should prefer a string stretched across by my right ear so that
swaying would be bound to make me touch it, but as a matter of
_intensely practical golf_ neither of these expedients is in the least
degree necessary if the player will only get it firmly rooted in his
mind that his weight must be on his left leg at the top of his swing,
and he will then find that he has no temptation whatever to sway.
On page 23 Mr. Travis says: "It is not really the length alone of the
downward swing that contributes distance so much as the rapidity with
which the club head is moving at, and just after the moment of
impact." It is almost unnecessary to draw attention to the fact that
what happens "just after the moment of impact" does not much matter to
the ball. It is what happens during the impact which is of importance,
although it stands to reason that if the speed during impact has been
sufficient, just after impact it will still be the same, minus the
force expended on the golf ball.
Mr. Travis makes a terrible error in _Practical Golf_ when he says,
speaking of the downward swing: "Let him resolve to centralise the
power of the stroke immediately the ball is reached."
This is an idea fatal to good golf. As I have frequently pointed out,
and as James Braid in _How to Play Golf_ also emphasises, the meeting
between the ball and the club should be _merely an incident_. Any
attempt to try to do anything during impact in the drive is futile.
Mr. Travis at page 24 makes the same error with regard to the speed of
the club after the ball has been hit. He says: "A great deal more
depends upon the maintenance of speed after the ball is struck than is
commonly supposed. This part of the stroke is known as the
follow-through, and plays a very important part in the length of the
drive as in straightness." Mr. Travis evidently does not perfectly
realise that the follow-through is of no importance whatever except as
the natural result of the correctly played first part of the stroke,
and the maintenance of speed after the ball has been struck is of no
importance provided that the first portion of the stroke has been
properly executed and at a sufficient pace. The only importance of the
maintenance of speed in any way whatever is that this indicates that
the first half has been correctly performed.
Mr. Travis seems to be very hazy as to the causes of slicing and
pulling. A ball being hit slightly to the right of its centre would
not necessarily produce a slice, although it would probably deflect it
from its intended line of flight. A slice is produced by the amount of
rotation which is imparted to the ball by the glancing blow. He says:
"With a pulled ball it is just the opposite--the ball is hit to the
left of its centre, that is, nearer the player, producing a spin from
right to left." This is not in any way necessary. The ball may be hit
absolutely at the point farthest from the hole, and with the club at a
perfect right angle to the intended line of flight, but the point
which Mr. Travis does not mention is that the club is travelling
upward across the intended line of flight and outward from the player.
This it is which produces the beneficial spin of the ball in the
pull.
At page 31, Mr. Travis says: "Every golfing stroke describes a circle,
or a segment of a circle." This is an egregious error, for the golf
stroke, quite naturally from the method of its production, bears a far
greater likeness to an oval than to a circle. Anyone endeavouring to
produce the golf stroke as a circle would certainly not get either a
very graceful or a very accurate result. Mr. Travis falls into the
astonishing error for a man who plays golf so well as he does, of
thinking that it is possible to juggle with the golf ball by means of
a golf club during impact. Speaking of brassy play, he says: "The
lofted face, joined to the slight whipping up of the hands at the
proper time--that is after the club meets the ball--will produce the
desired result. Don't on any account seek to bring the hands up too
quickly, otherwise a top will assuredly result."
Mr. Travis here falls into the common error with regard to using the
wrists during impact. It will be observed that he avoided it in
dealing with the follow-through, but in this matter he makes the usual
error. This turning up of the wrists which he refers to comes long
after the ball has been hit, and is the natural turn up which follows
any slice or any cut played to raise a ball suddenly.
At page 41 he makes the same error, for he says: "By striking the ball
slightly towards the heel of the club, and immediately after bringing
the arms somewhat in and finishing well out, a slight spin is imparted
to the ball which causes it to rise more quickly." Here it is clear
that he thinks that one may, after impact, do something with the hands
to affect the manner in which the ball leaves the club. There could
not possibly be any greater fallacy in golf than this. That this is a
rooted fallacy of Mr. Travis I shall show later on when I deal with
his remarks about bunker play.
Mr. Travis says at page 49: "Hitting with the heel of the club meeting
the ground after the ball is struck will cause the ball to rise more,
and, joined to the spin imparted by drawing in the arms and turning
the wrists upward, will produce a very dead ball with hardly any run.
The science of the stroke consists in hitting very sharply, and
turning the wrists upward immediately after the ball is struck."
Here we see the same delusion. The essence of this stroke is purely a
matter of practical golf which I have not seen mentioned in any book
or essay on golf. When one plays a ball off the heel of one's mashie,
it stands to reason that one gets the ball on the very narrowest
portion of the blade, and that therefore one hits the ball as far
beneath the centre of the ball's mass as it is possible to do--so much
so, in fact, that a very considerable portion of the ball overlaps the
top of the face of the club. This puts a tremendous amount of undercut
or stop on the ball. This is the practical golf of the shot which Mr.
Travis is attempting to describe, but his idea of putting cut on it by
juggling with it during impact is fatal.
In speaking of approach puts, Mr. Travis gives some wonderful advice.
He says: "You should aim to hit the ball as if it were your intention
to drive it into the ground.... This will cause the ball to jump, due
to its contact with the ground immediately after being struck." This
is practical golf of a nature which we may very well pass without
discussion. I think that there are very few golfers who will desire to
bounce the ball off the earth when they can play it off the face of
the club.
This is Mr. Travis' advice as to how to cut the put. At page 65 he
says: "Put cut on the ball by drawing the arms in a trifle just at the
moment of striking." The drawing of the arms across the ball is not to
be done at the moment of striking. It starts at the beginning of the
swing and finishes at the end thereof. This is how cut is put on a put
by practical golf. Mr. Travis advises for putting that people should
select "a particular blade of grass" on the line to the hole. He then
says: "Take your stance and square the face of the putter at perfect
right angles to the blade of grass you have picked out." As a matter
of practical golf I may remark that blades of grass have a remarkable
family likeness.
Mr. Travis says: "Close observation of all missed puts discloses the
interesting fact that by far the large majority go to the left of the
hole, thereby indicating the presence of the pull, due to the arms
being slightly drawn in just after striking." This is what is called a
sliced put in England, but again as a matter of practical golf I may
say that many of these puts are simply misdirected, such misdirection
being due to the turning over of the wrists _too soon_ in the action
of striking the ball. Unless one determinedly follows through well
down the line the natural tendency is to hook one's put across the
line, but this does not indicate any pull. It merely indicates, if of
frequent occurrence, ignorance or carelessness.
Speaking of stymies, Mr. Travis says: "Occasionally you will be
confronted with an absolutely dead stymie by having your opponent's
ball just on the edge of the cup, your own being so close, say seven
inches to a foot away, that it is impossible to negotiate the stroke
by either curling around or lofting. In such extremity there is only
one way of getting your ball in the hole unaccompanied by your
opponent's, and that is by what is technically known in billiards as
the follow shot." As a matter of practical golf the stymie stroke
introduced by me is far more likely to prove successful in this case
than the follow shot, for we are dealing with very tricky things when
we try to play billiards with golf balls covered with numerous
excrescences or dimples. If the stymie described by Mr. Travis is
played by my stroke, it should be got five times out of six, and I
very much doubt if Mr. Travis or anybody else could get anything like
this with the run through stroke.
Writing of "Playing out of hazards," Mr. Travis says: "Then bring it
down again on the same line with all the force you can controllably
command, consistent with accuracy. As it sinks into the sand its
course may then, but not until then, be slightly directed towards the
ball."
Coming from a practical golfer this is an absolutely amazing
statement. The idea of attempting to deflect one's niblick from the
line originally mapped out for it as it enters the sand is too amazing
and too utterly unsound to merit any further comment or notice, except
to say that it would be impossible to deflect the club head from the
line of travel mapped out for it at this moment without materially
reducing the force of the blow, and when one is hitting into heavy
sand, to get underneath the ball and in many cases to get it out of
the bunker without even touching it with the club, every pound of
force that can be put into the club is necessary.
There is another thing which Mr. Travis tells us that certainly is not
practical golf, and it does not seem to me to be practical carpentry,
but he says at page 126, speaking of the brassy: "The screws which
hold the blade sometimes work loose. This trouble may easily be
remedied by putting glue in the holes before inserting the screws."
One is never too old to learn, and I think that in any future efforts
I may make at amateur carpentry, I shall glue my nails!
Mr. Travis makes a very remarkable statement at page 139, speaking of
the guttie ball as opposed to the Haskell: "The latter, by reason of
its greater comparative resiliency does not remain in contact with the
club head quite so long, and therefore does not receive the full
benefit of the greater velocity of the stroke in the same proportion
as the less resilient guttie"; but surely the greater the resiliency
of the ball the longer it will remain in contact with the club. It
should be obvious that one of the reasons for the greater swerve in
the sliced or pulled rubber-cored ball as compared with the guttie, is
that on account of the longer period of impact the ball acquires a
greater amount of spin.
Speaking of the waggle, Mr. Travis is delightfully indefinite. He says
"With the club gripped pretty firmly with both hands in the manner
already described, it is well to see that the whole machinery is in
good working order by waggling the club a few times over the ball,
allowing the wrists to turn freely, without, however, relaxing the
grip. The waggle should be entirely free from any stiffness, which
simply means that the wrists should be brought into active play."
This is certainly delightfully vague, and is not, I am afraid, of much
use to anyone as a matter of practical golf. The waggle is
unquestionably of importance in the game of golf, otherwise it is
quite improbable that we should see it employed by so many of the
famous players. The curious thing about this waggle is that it seems
to be confined to games wherein one plays a stationary ball. The same
operation is gone through at billiards with the cue, but is there
known as cueing at the ball. With a very great number of players the
waggle may be described as moral cowardice--an excuse for putting off
the evil moment. Many players convert the waggle into a performance
which is both tedious and stupid, and which instead of giving them a
better chance of hitting the ball, has a very great chance of
absolutely putting them off their stroke.
I do not know that I have ever seen the necessity for the waggle
explained, nor have I seen the waggle of any of the famous players
illustrated. There can, however, be very little question that in the
majority of cases the address and waggle is unnecessarily exaggerated
and prolonged.
In _Modern Golf_ I have illustrated George Duncan's waggle. So far as
I am aware, this is the only time that such a thing has been done.
Duncan is probably the quickest player living, so that it will not be
necessary for us to assume that every one will be satisfied with so
little preliminary work as Duncan puts in before hitting the ball. His
method of playing is to take his line to the hole as much as he can as
he approaches the ball. He then marches straight up to it and takes
his stance, at the same time swinging his club head out so that it is
roughly on a level with his waist and pointing towards the hole, but
being at the same time almost above the line of flight to the hole. He
then brings his club back to the ball, and addresses it in the usual
way, soling his club close behind the ball. Now he lifts the club
practically straight up for six or nine inches and carries it forward
of the ball in a gentle curve for about six inches. From here he
carries the club head back along the plane of flight produced through
the ball as far as it will go without turning his wrists over. The
club then is swung easily and naturally back to the ball almost in the
same manner as it would come to it in the drive, until it arrives
close behind the ball, but about two inches from the turf, when it
sinks to rest by dropping straight down behind the ball. It is now
soled again as in the original address.
This sounds like a somewhat lengthy process, but as a matter of fact
it is probably the shortest waggle used by any golf player who is in
the front rank. In fact, so rapid is Duncan in his play, that very
frequently spectators who are not accustomed to his methods, do not
see him play the ball, as they allow for the more deliberate style
generally followed by the other leading professionals. In Duncan we
have a player who in my opinion is as good a golfer as anyone in the
world. We see clearly that he wastes very little time in addressing
his ball, either through the green or on the putting-green. On the
other hand, we see some men of greater fame than Duncan whose
deliberation is tedious in the extreme, although it must be admitted
that in so far as regards the waggle in the drive, the great players
do not overdo this nearly so much as do amateurs of an inferior class.
I am not aware that anybody has yet explained the reason for the
waggle. It seems that it is a natural movement, or in some cases a
very unnatural movement, which players fall into in endeavouring to
readjust their distance from the ball and their position with regard
to the line of flight. Very many players who waggle, produce most
remarkable flourishes with their club. The club is made to describe
curves in the air which it could not possibly do in any other
operation at golf than the waggle. The whole object of the waggle
seems to be to allow the player to get his eye in, as it is commonly
called, at the ball, to loosen his joints, and, which is a point that
I have not seen previously made, in a measure to produce in
anticipation the motions of his wrists and club immediately before,
at, and after impact with the ball.
If this view of the object of the waggle be accepted as correct, it is
obvious that in nine cases of ten the attempted waggle is force
hopelessly wasted--in fact, worse than wasted, for it has been
occupied in describing weird geometrical figures in the air, figures
which can have no possible reference whatever to the work which the
club is expected to do. In Duncan's waggle it will be observed that
firstly he swings his club head out down the line towards the hole,
and secondly that he carries it back for a considerable distance from
the ball in the plane of flight produced through the ball. It will be
seen from this that to a great extent he produces in the waggle the
same motions as his forearms and wrists go through immediately before,
at, and after impact with the ball. On examining the photographs of
Duncan's hands in the drive, we find that for the space of nearly two
feet before he reaches the ball, and probably for quite that distance
after the ball has been struck and he has continued the
follow-through, there is no turning over of the wrists--that during
this space of roughly three feet, the space wherein James Braid says
that the wrists _have it all their own way_, Duncan's wrists are
practically quiescent, and that during the whole of this time the club
is travelling at almost its maximum speed, but the arms and wrists are
doing very little more to it than to withstand the centrifugal force
developed in the earlier part of the swing and to keep themselves
braced to withstand the shock of impact.
These are merely a few instances taken haphazard from a book called
_Practical Golf_ by one who is, undoubtedly, in so far as regards his
own play, a practical golfer. This does not, however, prevent him from
furnishing another and a very striking example of the curious fact
that nearly all good golfers teach the game in a manner entirely
different from that in which they play it, and that their tuition, if
followed out, must result in their followers learning to play in very
bad form, and probably also learning much which has to be painfully
unlearnt later on when they have discovered the truth.
AFTERWORD
It would be very easy for me now to begin to explain in the ordinary
manner of golf books how the game is played, but to do so would be
going outside the scope of this work, and interfering either with the
proper functions of the professional, or the proper practice of the
intelligent golfer.
I have, in this book, taken my readers through all those matters which
are of the most vital importance to the game, and practically
everything which is contained between the covers of this book may be
better studied and digested by the golfer, be he a champion or a
beginner, in his arm-chair than on the links. He who wishes to know
golf to the core, must know what is in this book, all of which he can
thoroughly understand without taking a club in his hands.
The whole fault of the false doctrine which has been so plentifully
published about golf in the past, is that it has given the unfortunate
people who have taken notice of it an incalculable number of things to
think about. The truest and best tuition in golf is that which
advances by a process of elimination and so proceeds that it gives the
learner a minimum number of separate circumstances to think about
during his game; in fact, if the tuition has been properly carried out
the golfer will have astonishingly little to think of at the moment
when he is making his stroke. This is the ideal condition of mind.
The remark which the puzzled golfer made to me that when he started on
his downward swing he had so many things to think of that he was "all
of a dither" expresses marvellously accurately the condition of mind
of about ninety per cent of golfers who think they have studied golf.
The golfer who studies this book soundly and intelligently will learn
what he will learn from no other book on golf, and that is what a vast
number of things there are in connection with the golf stroke which it
is expedient to forget at the moment one is making it.
Let me give an illustration of what I mean. The golfer is told now
that at the top of his swing he must get his weight on to his right
foot, and that he must keep his head still. The merest attempt to do
this produces a conflict at once. Then he is told that his left hand
must dominate the right: here is conflict again. But when he learns
that in order to keep his head still he must put his weight at the top
of his swing on his left foot, the conflict vanishes, he finds that it
is natural and easy to do; and he forgets to encumber his mind with
the fact that it has to be done, so that it becomes just as habitual
with him to put his weight in the right place as it is when he is
walking. The same thing applies with regard to the instructions which
he has always had drilled into him to allow the left hand and arm to
usurp the position of the right. Here again he is distinctly exhorted
to encourage these two members to enter into conflict during the
stroke. Although I explained to him most clearly that this idea about
the left being the more important member of the two is utterly wrong,
and that the right is, and always must be, the dominant member in the
golf swing, I did not tell him to remember this during the golf swing,
and he is indeed a very foolish person if he attempts to remember it.
All he has to do is to cut the false doctrine out of his mind, and
nature will attend to the rest. So it will be seen that when one has
grasped the truth in connection with golf one has advanced by such a
process of elimination that there is left for the happy golfer when he
addresses his ball very little to think of but hitting that ball.
Golf in the past has suffered from the multiplicity of false
directions. It is by recognising these for what they are, and by
forgetting them that the golfer will ultimately arrive at _The Soul of
Golf_.
INDEX
Accelerating speed, Vardon on, 104
Address and impact similar, Braid on, 137
Address, Braid on, 133
Apportionment of back-spin, 263, 270, 271
Arm roll in stroke, 210
Arms measure distance, 46, 174
As you go up so you come down, 97, 219
Ayres, F. H., Ltd., 289, 324
Ayres, Mr. Rupert, 289-291
Back-spin at impact, rate of, 272
how obtained, 247
Professor Tait's experiment, 225
Professor Thomson's error, 246
Badminton _Golf_, 120, 158, 214, 218
_Badminton Magazine_, 222, 226
Ball, Mr. John, 153, 157
Ball, action of, during impact, 237
brambly, inaccuracy off putter, 287
centre of gravity, 292
centre of gravity, test for, 294
effect of marking, 302
effect of untrue centre, 299
flight parallel with earth, 265
guttie, truth of, 294
Haskell, 253
indented or dimpled, 286
instability of the golf, 284
smooth, flight of, 289, 311
tests, 296
the golf, 283
track of, on green, 286
unscientifically made, 261
Balls, dimpled, 291
Base ball, spin in, 233
Beauty of flight, 3
Billiard balls, excrescences on, 283
Billiards, blind spot in, 175
Blackwell, Mr. Edward, 153
Blindfold golf, 164
Blind spot, 168, 169, 173
Blow in golf horizontal, Professor Tait, 265
upward, 265
Body movement after impact, 167
Braid on distribution of weight, 119, 135
on influence of club after impact, 101
on putting, 50, 55, 58, 77
Braid's putting, 75, 76
uncertainty about wrist work, 208
Bullet, drift of, 235
Catapults, Sir Ralph Payne-Gallwey's, 296
Cleek, push stroke with, 194
Vardon's push shot with, 194
Clubs, all illegal, 322
construction of, 316
rusty, 333
_Contemporary Review_, 320
Corkscrew action in stroke, Braid on, 213
Croome, Mr. A. C. M., 198, 199
Cross-bow, Professor Tait's experiment, 266
Cross wind, Professor Thomson on, 240
Sir Ralph Payne-Gallwey on, 298
Vardon on, 256
Cut, principles of, 89
Cutting round a stymie, 73
Direction, demand for, 3
Downward swing, control of, 133, 278
Downward swing, Duncan and Vardon, 130
Drag for bolting puts, 62, 63
in putting, 60
Drive, tension of muscles during, 38
Duncan, George, 7, 82
and mashie stroke, 72, 82
and smooth ball, 289, 309
Dynamical problems, Professor Thomson on, 228
Elimination the secret of coaching, 352
English mental attitude towards games, 4
_English Review, The_, 267
_Evening Standard and St. James's Gazette_, 288
Eye, lifting the, 34, 35
Eyes, effect of, on weight, 167
function of, 162, 163
movement of, 166
Vardon on movement of, 168
Fallacies of golf, 95
Feet, movement of, Duncan, Vardon, and Braid, 134
"Flick" in golf stroke, 213
Flight of ball, 222
Follow-through, 128, 129
control of, 278
Forearms, action of Duncan's, 210
in stroke, roll of, 210
Freemasonry of golf, 6
_Fry's Magazine_, photographs in, 125, 138
Golf books, unscrupulous practices, 10
_Golf Illustrated_, 197
and Professor Thomson, 253
Golfers groping their way, Braid, 269
Grip, apportionment of power in, 150
old, 152, 153
overlapping, 152
suggested new, 151
Gutta ball, Walter J. Travis on, 253
Haskell ball, 253
Head, keeping still, 162, 163
Taylor on position of, 171
High tee for low ball, 246
Hilton, Mr. H. H., 153
Hilton, Mr. H. H., in _Concerning Golf_, 160
Horizontal stroke, Professor Thomson's idea, 244
Hutchinson, Mr. Horace G., on distribution of weight, 120
on top of swing, 158
Impact, action during, 182
and address similar, Braid on, 137, 277
an incident of stroke, 45, 99, 100
arc during, 244
duration of, 165
length of, 277
muscles at time of, 30, 31
"no control over," Braid, 278
Professor Thomson on, 242
Walter J. Travis on, 253
Impatience to play, 5
Instruction by elimination, 352
Knee, left, Braid's action, 137
left, not loose, 127
right, and Vardon, 131
Laws of swerve of universal application, 234
Left and right wrists together, Vardon, 216
Left arm, power of, 12, 140
Braid on, 142, 143, 148
Mr. Hutchinson on, 146
Taylor on, 144, 145, 148
Vardon on, 140, 141, 148, 149
Left hand, regulating grip, Vardon on, 150
Left wrist starts club down, Braid, 215
_Le Golf_, Arnaud Massy, 320
Literature of golf, 10, 334
Low, Mr. John L., _Concerning Golf_, 159, 256, 257
Low ball, high tee for, 246
Mashie, cut shot, 26
cut stroke, Vardon on, 191
for stymies, 70
stroke, Taylor's cut, 193
Mashies, short, for stymies, 330
Massy, Arnaud, 320
Master stroke, the, 178
Matter, definition of, 41
Mechanical accuracy demanded, 2
Mechanics of golf, 3
Mitchell, A., 327
_Modern Golf_, 59, 73, 83, 133, 210, 246
_Morning Post_, 198
Mystery, none in other games, 16
_Mystery of Golf_, 15, 125, 220
Newton, on principles of swerve, 223, 235, 228
"Nip" at impact, Professor Tait, 266
"Nose" of golf ball, 231
Palm grip, Mr. Horace G. Hutchinson on, 159
Payne-Gallwey, Sir Ralph, 292
tests, 296
_Practical Golf_, 120, 335 _et seq._
Press, influence of, 33
Professionals and journalists, 10
lacking in theory, 9
_Projectile Throwing Engines of the Ancients_, 292
Pull, the, 179
axis of vertical, Professor Thomson on, 237
Braid on, 188
explanation of spin, 240
Mr. John L. Low on, 258
true axis of, 240
Vardon on, 183
Push stroke, Vardon's, 194
Put, Braid on cutting the, 83
not a wrist stroke, 67
position of ball, 67
run on, 69
short grip for, 84
Vardon on cutting the, 87
Put, short, the easiest stroke, 48
Braid on the, 50
should be taught first, 48
Taylor on the, 50
Vardon on the, 49
Putter, short, 326
Putting, 11, 47
chief point in, 64
fundamental principles of, 53
importance of address in, 65
mechanically simple, 57
most important factor, 52
off heel or toe, 64
pendulum action in, 66
tests, 304
with drag, 60
Ray, Edward, 301, 309
Roll of ball on club, 238, 245
"Ruff," the, golf ball, 300, 309
St. Andrews, Royal and Ancient Golf Club of, 322
Schenectady putter, 320, 326
Self-consciousness, 20
Shaft, torsional strain of, 321
Simplicity of golf, 2
Slice, the, 179
axis of, vertical, Professor Thomson, 237
impact in, 252
Mr. John L. Low on, 258
pressure on rear of ball, Professor Thomson, 241
Professor Thomson on, 250
true axis of, 238
Walter J. Travis on, 190
Slow back, 96
Smooth ball, uneven flight of, 311
Snap of wrists in drive, 205
Soles, broad, of clubs, 328
Spalding, A. G., & Bros., 291
Speed, gradually increasing, 29
Spin, 181
effect on flight, Braid on, 260
Spread of golf, 6
Style, 19
Stymie, cutting round, 73
run-through, 343
"Sweep," a hit with iron clubs, 109
Sweep, the, 12, 98
_Swerve, or the Flight of the Ball_, 224
Swerve, principles of, 223, 233
Swerve, double, 293
Sir Ralph Payne-Gallwey on, 305
Swing, premature teaching of, 5
the short, 110
top of, Mr. Horace G. Hutchinson on, 158
Tait, late Professor, 223
Taylor on distribution of weight, 120, 171
on putting, 50
on the sweep, 103
Teaching by elimination, 352
of golf unsound, 43
Temperament, golf the test of, 7
Tension during stroke, Braid on, 133
of muscles during stroke, 38
Thomson, Professor, and smooth ball, 312
Thomson, Professor Sir J. J., 227
_Times, The_, 292
Topped ball, 279
Top-spin, alleged possibilities of, 280
how obtained, 233
in lawn-tennis, Professor Thomson on, 232
nearest approach to, 280
not used in golf, 280
Travis, Walter J., fallacies of, 335 _et seq._
on distribution of weight, 120
Under-spin not essential to long carry, 227
Professor Thomson's error, 246
properties of, 248
Upward concavity against back-spin, 267, 275
Vaile golf ball, 290
putter, 55
stymie stroke, 70
Vardon and blind spot, 169
on cross wind, 256
on cutting a put, 87
Vardon on distribution of weight, 118, 124
on follow-through, 131
on putting, 50, 75
Vardon's weight in follow-through, 131
Vertical axis of slice and pull, Professor Thomson on, 237
Waggle, the, 346
Duncan's, 346
Waist, pivoting from, 122
Weight, distribution of, 13, 25, 27, 97, 117, 171
Weight distribution, Vardon on, 118, 124
Braid on, 119, 121
fallacy, origin explained, 138
Horace Hutchinson on, 120
Mr. Haultain's explanation, 125
Taylor on, 120
W. J. Travis on, 120
Weight on right leg, test for, 122
Wind-cheater, 3, 179
Wind, cross, 242, 256, 257
Wrists, action of, 202
Mr. Horace Hutchinson on, 219
speed of, 217
turn over of, 107
Vardon on action of, 203
_Printed by_ R. & R. CLARK, LIMITED, _Edinburgh_.
* * * * *
THE MYSTERY OF GOLF
BY ARNOLD HAULTAIN
Second and Cheaper Edition. Crown 8vo. 2s. 6d. net.
Mr. HENRY LEACH in the _EVENING NEWS_.--"Mr. Haultain's book
answers to all the tests to which it may be submitted, and I
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that has ever been written."
Mr. J. SUTHERLAND in the _DAILY NEWS_.--"A short time ago I
was asked by a young aspirant ... to point out the book I
liked best. 'That wee one?' he inquired, and on my nodding
assent he ... took the book down and read ... _The Mystery of
Golf_ (Haultain)."
_THE PROFESSIONAL AND GREENKEEPER._--"The book is undoubtedly
one of the best ever written dealing with the Royal and
Ancient Game."
"LOOKER-ON" in _GOLF ILLUSTRATED_.--"In my opinion, the best
book that has ever been written on golf.... On every page
there scintillates a jewel of golfing wisdom."
_GOLFING._--"A book in which every golfer must delight....
There is not a stale word in the book from beginning to end."
* * * * *
THE ART OF PUTTING. By W. J. TRAVIS and JACK WHITE. Crown 8vo.
1s.
GREAT LAWN TENNIS PLAYERS. Their Methods Illustrated. By G. W.
BELDAM and P. A. VAILE. With 229 Action-Photographs. Medium
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JESSOP; and 464 Action-Photographs. Medium 8vo. 10s. 6d. net.
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PARET. With a Chapter on Lacrosse by W. H. MADDREN.
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THE MAN-EATERS OF TSAVO, AND OTHER EAST AFRICAN ADVENTURES. By
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Foreword by FREDERICK COURTENEY SELOUS. 8vo. 7s. 6d. net.
Cheap Edition. Globe 8vo. 1s. net.
IN THE GRIP OF THE NYIKA. Further Adventures in British East
Africa. By Lieut.-Colonel J. H. PATTERSON, D. S. O.
Illustrated. 8vo. 7s. 6d. net.
A HUNTER'S WANDERINGS IN AFRICA. Nine Years amongst the Game
of the Far Interior of South Africa. By FREDERICK COURTENEY
SELOUS. Illustrated. Fifth Edition. Extra crown 8vo. 7s. 6d.
net.
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SELOUS. With a Foreword by THEODORE ROOSEVELT, and
Illustrations by E. CALDWELL. 8vo. 10s. net.
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AN ANGLER'S HOURS. By H. T. SHERINGHAM. Extra crown 8vo. 6s.
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MACMILLAN AND CO., LTD., LONDON.
* * * * *
Transcriber's Notes:
Obvious printer errors were repaired.
Hyphenation variants retained as in original.
Copyright page showed no date.
Both "putts" (in quoted material) and "puts" (in author's voice) were
present in the original.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Soul of Golf, by Percy Adolphus Vaile
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