When the pupils at St. Nicholas at Wade C of E Primary School in Birchington returned from their summer break, they were delighted to see a 9-hole miniature golf course installed within their school grounds.
The idea was to offer them something “new, exciting and challenging” – after hang gliding from the school roof and hot-coal walking were considered too dangerous.
Each hole has been designed to represent different school values, like Courage, Resilience (which I think just means those holes are tricky and annoying to play?), Kindness and Honesty.
If I’m being “kind” and “honest”, I’ve no idea how those values are represented on a golf hole. Maybe they have “Give way” signs and no one lies about their score?
And if the teachers believe that any of their pupils will be thinking of these exact values whilst they are frantically and furiously trying to putt their way around the course, then maybe they should have a hole entitled “blind optimism”?
Now, I don’t wish to rain on anyone’s parade but I can exclusively reveal that the fabulous idea of having a miniature golf course installed in your school grounds isn’t “new” at all because my school had one installed many years previously.
True.
I remember my headmaster announcing the grand plan to build a miniature golf course outside and around the perimeter fence of the school playground but within the school grounds.
For weeks, we stared out the classroom windows – we needed no excuse – transfixed at the sight of the miniature mechanical digger, piloted by Gordon from Thunderbirds, slowly edging its way along, digging up luscious green turf (ironically, ideal for golf) and replacing it with dull grey gravel. It was literally groundbreaking.
The 9-hole golf course was slowly cemented into place, with various obstacles attached to make us believe that our London school was now a reason not to visit Hastings or any other seaside resort for a similar experience.
When it was finished, our headmaster announced that the miniature golf course would be officially opened by Sir Harry Secombe (singer, comedian, all round goon).
How exciting?
Someone from the telly was going to visit our school and we would get the whole afternoon off to watch him say a few complimentary words and hopefully not sing.
My excitement intensified when I was told that classmate Sheila Gwatkins (pronounced Grotkins, not Gwatkins, not that it improved things for her) and I had been chosen to play a few holes with Sir Harry in front of the local tv and press photographers.
As a child, I had always wanted to have my photo in the newspaper. Not like my dad who was photographed by The Evening Standard on his way to work staring at a murdered body on a London street. I think we bought six copies and handed them out to friends and family because we didn’t have many photos of dad.
The truth was, I was a deeply insecure fat child. I just wanted people to see me in the paper and say nice things like: “Actually, I was wrong about you. You’re not fat. Well, not compared to Harry Secombe.”
I’d have taken that small victory.
Anywayze…
On the day of Harry Secombe’s arrival, Sheila and I were given the morning off from lessons to go outside and practice playing golf. In reality, this was a stupid idea because a “still photograph” was never going to show how great or poor we were at playing golf.
But it made a welcome change from going outside with the clicky stick to measure the school playground, as if its dimensions were going to change from term to term?
So off we smugly went and batted our golf balls around all the holes like it was the funnest thing, ever.
After a considerable lunch, Harry and the press arrived. He garbled some words about how “new, exciting and challenging” it was, blissfully unaware a teacher in Birchington would be using those exact same words many years later.
He, Sheila and I played a few holes together. No one was officially keeping score but I knew I won.
Many photos were taken by the tv photographer and the various local press. Harry kindly gave me and everyone his autograph and I came home from school absolutely beaming with joy.
I excitedly sat down in front of the tv with my family to watch the local evening news because I wanted to see my picture on tv.
The report had been reduced to a couple of lines read by the female studio presenter.
She said: “Today, Harry Secombe visited a school in London and opened a 9-hole crazy golf course.”
This was back in the day where you could say “Crazy golf course” and no golf course would feel offended by the perceived slur on its character,
“It is believed the be the first one to be built within a school’s grounds” Unless an even older columnist knows differently?
And there, behind her was a giant picture of Harry Secombe playing golf with… Sheila Gwatkins!!!
Every local paper that week showed Harry and Sheila. I was nowhere to be seen which was strange as I could be seen from the moon with the naked eye. Maybe Harry and I were too fat appear in the same photograph together even with a panoramic lens?
I won’t deny I was crestfallen. Even though it wasn’t his fault. In protest, I never watched another show Harry Secombe appeared on and blasphemed my way through Highway for months. I even lost his autograph somewhere.
But I’d like to think I’m over it now and if the headmistress would like to invite me to game of miniature golf at her Birchington school, I’d welcome it because I know I could show her pupils everything about “Resilience” and would complete that named hole in around 349 shots.
And maybe ask her to rename some of the holes to “Bitterness,” “Anger,” “Resentment” and “Disappointment” to sum up my true experience of the game?
Categories:Dad, Food, Health, Holiday, Music, School, Sport, Television
Russ Writes 
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