by Earl Nelson
“We in Hollywood know about that full well.”
“Anyway, I am doing this hands-off. Trần asks for contacts for whatever agency he wants to work on. I give him a list of groups that could do the job. I don’t begin to know all the various groups and their records, but I do know people who do.”
“In doing so you are increasing your contacts and influence around the world.”
“I never looked at it that way, but I think you are right.”
“What is the downside of what you are doing?”
“That one is easy. It’s about time for the Soviets to try to kill me again.”
I was being flippant, but it didn’t come across that way. I could see two parents re-evaluating their daughter being around me.
I tried to backtrack, but the damage had been done. Nothing was said right then, but there would be fallout.
Nina walked to my car with me, where we smooched a little before saying goodnight. She didn’t say anything about my Soviet comment, but you could see the wheels turning.
The next morning, Saturday, it was wheels up for John, Sam, the ever-present Harold, and me for Glasgow, Scotland. This was the nearest to Troon, the landing pattern crossed the south end of the golf course. It would be two rented limos for the rest of the trip. One for John, Sam, and me. The other for Harold and my clothes, hey this was Harold’s idea.
The trip was okay as far as trips go. We played hearts for most of the trip. As usual, the stewardess’s won the most money. I think they are all card sharks.
I did go up front and get another two hours in my logbook. At this rate, I might have a hundred hours on 707s in twenty or thirty years. The aircraft might even be obsolete by then!
Mum had taken care of our housing arrangements. I think what she did was call Grand Mum, who in turn brought in the Queen Mum who told some lackey to find us a nice place.
It was nice, I’m not sure we needed forty bedrooms for the week, but in case people dropped in we were ready.
Chapter 5
We arrived in Glasgow on Saturday morning. The time change wasn’t as bad as going to China or Vietnam, but it still was prudent to adjust before a major effort like this tournament.
Mum and Dad had arrived the previous day, so the family was standing out front as we arrived in front of Mum’s small rental. The castle even had a moat and drawbridge!
This castle was a private residence and was not open to the public. The roads in the area were left in mild disrepair to discourage visitors and tour buses.
It was a Royal family getaway. Kept low-key, Castle Firth was one of the better-kept secret Royal residences. This is where alcoholic Royals were sent for recovery, or mad ones locked up.
Our limo driver was aware of the turn-off road but had never been down it. His comment when he saw the castle was, “Och!”
We were shown our rooms which thankfully had been modernized, well they were in 1930. At least there was electricity to light the 20watt bulbs.
I think candlelight would have done as well. Still, it was a nice place to spend the week. There would be no problem with the paparazzi taking pictures through the window.
If any of them made it behind the castle walls, there was a dungeon. We were shown this on a group tour by the staff. They didn’t get that many visitors, so they were glad to show off their castle.
I think it was more the staff's castle than the Royals. The staff lived on-site; the Royals came rarely. We all agreed it was a cool place to visit but we wouldn’t want to live here.
Not only was it out of the way, but according to the staff, it was cold, wet, and dark in the winter. They stated this as though that was normal. I think I know where that thousand-year-old richest vampire in the world lives. One of the graves in the crypt we were shown probably houses him.
I wisely kept my mouth shut; Mary would have had us awake all night.
Monday John and I were at the golf course at our appointed tee time. We had arrived early, as usual, to get the gear settled, signed in for the tournament, and spend some time on the practice greens after loosening up on the driving range. For an eleven o’clock tee time we had to be there at eight o’clock. This golfing is hard work.
I was given a warmer welcome at the sign-in tent than I had received in America. The Scots loved amateurs. They rooted for the underdog even if I was an Englishman or Sassenach.
Sassenach translates to Saxon. This shows how far back their memories went. The Saxons lost power in England in 1066 when the French Normans invaded. The Hatfield’s and the McCoy’s were beginners at this feuding stuff.
The first six holes on the course made me think this would be a walk in the park. I was five under, going up to hole number 8, the Postage Stamp a par 3 123 yards. I loved the way every hole had a name.
The Postage Stamp was named for its small putting green. The tee shot was from the high ground over a gully onto a green set into a sandhill. There were five deep bunkers, hills, and gorse protecting the green.
There was a wind blowing and I selected a nine iron, I should have chosen an eight or even a seven as I came up short. I felt lucky to get away with a double bogey.
I managed to par the next two holes. Then came the tenth hole, Sandhills.
Sandhills is a par 4, 451 yards. It is dead into the prevailing wind. It starts with a blind tee shot. You must aim for the side of a hill on the left side of the fairway. Gorse in the rough gets any drift balls. If this happens say goodbye to par. I said goodbye. My five-under had turned into two under.
Next was the 11th hole a 482-yard, Par 5, The Railway's name is because it runs next to railway tracks, with a four-foot stone path, hit those and you were out of bounds. I didn’t go out of bounds. I hit a safe 3 wood leaving a 200-yard shot to a tight landing area. I went to the left into a bunker and felt good about getting a bogey, leaving me one under.
Hole 12 The Fox is a par 4, 430 yards I hit a driver down the right side and then a wedge to the green. This resulted in a par.
Then came the 18th hole, Craigend, a par 4 at 458 yards. All it took was a long shot up the middle right, easily clearing a bunker at 307 yards. The pin was set in the back. I was told to stay short of pin high as anything long is out of bounds. The clubhouse is set close to the back of the green. I was long and ended up with one over for the practice round.
That evening John and I had a long talk about the day's play. I had to treat this course with more respect than I had today if I were to win.
Day two was better. I managed a Par on the Postage Stamp. Sandhills had a bogy, the Fox another par. This time on Craigend, I stayed below the pin for a par. I had a three-under for the day.
If I did that every round, I would be on the leader board, but probably not the winner.
On the third day of practice, I managed a four-under so felt like I had a chance in the tournament.
My partners in the practice round were all amateurs like me. No disrespect intended but this wasn’t my competition. We were polite with each other, but we were from different worlds, I was a bloody Duke!
That evening I spent as I had before every tournament. Quietly at home. Not that the castle was homey. It felt more like a combination of museum and mausoleum. No parties had been planned while we were in residence.
I noticed my brothers and sister were sticking close to our parents tonight. This place was spooky. The staff had retired for the evening to their little cottages behind the castle. We had the tremendous pile of stone to ourselves.
There was no radio or television. There was an old windup Victrola with a selection of pre-world war II records. They were so thick you could use them as clay pigeons. The only problem being that a direct hit wouldn’t break them.
We would take turns winding the machine just to have some noise. When it was time to go to bed no one argued when Mary went with Mum and Dad, while Denny and Eddie shared a huge bed.
That left me. There was no way that I would say that I was scared but I did sleep with the low
wattage light bulbs on.
I lay there for the longest time waiting for things to go bump in the night, but they didn’t. Suddenly, my portable alarm was going off.
A fog had settled in overnight, so I put off my run. No way was I going to run in the strange countryside when I couldn’t see more than twenty or thirty feet in front of me. No, I wasn’t scared that something would jump out and get me. Really!
Despite all that I felt rested from a good night's sleep. John told me that he felt silly, but he left his light on all night. I replied that the place didn’t inspire confidence. I didn’t see a need to tell him I also had left my light on.
At breakfast, Harold looked tired like he had no sleep. I asked him how he felt. He told me that he was good until going to bed. It was only then that he realized he was staying in the castle that was the center of all the ghost stories of his childhood.
I teased him a bit, “You were scared of a few ghosts?”
“No, I was scared of all the unexplained deaths that have occurred in this castle.”
“You mean the ghost got them?”
“No, people have been shot, stabbed, and hanged here, with no explanation of how it happened.”
Mum and Dad looked at each other across the table. I thought they would be looking for another place to stay.
This was confirmed when Mum instructed Harold to make certain everything was packed, we wouldn’t be returning.
As we were driving through the main gate to leave, I noticed that the stone had words engraved above the exit.
You have left the Hous…f…. sher.
I wondered what the missing letters were. All of us were extremely glad to be leaving that gloomy place. As we were going back to town we were stopped by the police. They had been looking for us all night as we hadn’t turned up at the royal residence.
The limo that John and I were in continued to the Troon golf course, while the rest of the family followed the police to the correct residence. I wondered where we had stayed last night.
Chapter 6
After last night's strangeness, I was glad to be in the real world. The golf course seemed like a safe haven to me.
My tee time was in the middle of the pack. It appears that my chances of winning have moved up, at least according to the pairings committee.
I was paired with two other amateurs. They took their golf seriously. They concentrated on each shot. Not that it helped them. They fell victim to every nasty this course had available.
It was a good thing I was playing against myself. Their dismal showings would do nothing to make me play better.
I ended up the first round, one stroke behind Keith MacDonald who was three under.
I would have tied him, but I left myself too long of a putt on the Fox and took a bogey.
Our driver now had directions to the correct house, so we went straight there after I filled in my scorecard. I pored over it as I had read tales in Golfweek about players who were disqualified for filling out their cards incorrectly.
The other two players in my threesome were gracious in their loss and wished me luck in the tournament. They both had done so poorly they wouldn’t make the cut.
The correct place was more of what I called a mansion rather than a castle. It was brilliantly lit up and was warm and cozy inside.
I expressed the thought to Mum that this was a much better place to stay than that pile of stone from last night.
She told me that she had asked the staff about the place, but no one seemed to know of it. One incredibly old staff member crossed herself when I mentioned it but wouldn’t respond when Mum asked about it.
She just mumbled about tales from her youth and left the room. We never saw her again. That night we all slept in separate bedrooms with no night fears.
At breakfast, John again cautioned me about trying to beat the course, just play it as it was meant to be played. The first six holes are where I could hit the ball long and straight and try for birdies. After that, respect the course because certainly, it wouldn’t respect me.
Dad had been keeping track of the International news. Last year the Cubans in Miami had talked about nothing but taking Cuba back from Castro. They had funded a paramilitary group called Brigade 2056. They had thought they could gain US support through the CIA.
Ike had allowed the project to start but JFK was reluctant to continue with it. It was just as well because when I was in Miami last year everyone on the street knew when and where the invasion was to take place.
The CIA wanted to go ahead but JFK wouldn’t let them. Now it appears that the invasion was only delayed. The additional year or so had given the Cuban freedom fighters time to train their pilots for air support rather than depend on the US.
This time with the element of surprise a beachhead had been established and the Brigade was moving towards Havana. Their success would depend on them being joined by locals.
They had a large supply of weapons and ammunition to hand out but no tanks or heavy artillery like the Cuban army. Not that the army had much, but any could make a difference.
I cleared my head of this news as we drove to the Troon course. The last thing I needed to be thinking of was an invasion. I had my own invading to do today.
Round two went better for me than round one. I went on a streak and made four birdies in a row on the first four holes. I parred out the rest of the holes to end the day in the lead at six-under. Arnold Palmer had moved up to four under, so I didn’t dare to let up.
That evening we learned that the Cuban tanks and artillery had been taken out by the insurgent's air. The Cuban air force was almost nonexistent. They had plenty of MIGs, but the Russian support group spent more time drinking rum and Coca-Cola as the MIGs weren’t safe to fly.
The few that flew by poorly trained Cuban pilots were easily knocked out of the sky by prop-driven Mitchel bombers. That was sad, well at least sad for Castro and his Soviet backers.
By the time I went to bed the Cuban freedom fighters were within ten miles of downtown Havana. The army resistance was stiffening as their interior lines shortened.
Dad explained what interior lines were to us kids as we listened on the radio. Live reports were coming in on the short wave. This was exciting hearing a war live, as it were.
It was also scary because a lot of people were dying, and we didn’t know how it would end.
Mum put Mary to bed early as she was getting upset by the reporting. She didn’t like people shooting at each other. Someone might get hurt. Why didn’t they fight with their fists?
No one even tried to answer her.
In the morning, the fighting had advanced into Havana and the TV and Radio stations in town had been seized. Word was that Fidel and Raul Castro had fled the country taking a boat in the night to Venezuela. I wondered how that would work out with Romulo Betancourt in power.
It appeared that the Freedom fighters had taken back Cuba. The next question was who would run the country.
While the fate of Cuba was being decided John and I headed to Troon to decide the fate of the British Open, or the Open Championship as they called it. They didn’t deign to recognize that the colonies had an Open of their own.
This was Saturday and we had two rounds today. I was glad to be in the lead because this meant I got to tee off in the last group. This gave the morning breezes time to calm down.
What the Scots called a morning breeze would be called a Force 7 near gale on the Beaufort scale. The 28 to 33 mile an hour wind would send the ball back to you if hit directly into the wind.
I managed to have a run of six birdies on the first six holes but had one bogey after that on the Railroad. This made me five-under for the round and eleven under for the tournament. Arnold Palmer was in second at nine-under.
We had a short break before teeing up for the final round. Arnold and I were in the last group. He was a gentleman as ever and told me that he was going to make a run at me. I agreed that was his right, but he wouldn’t mind
if I did the same.
“No, Your Grace, go for it.”
It took a moment to realize he was talking to me. This Duke stuff was new to me. I didn’t know if I liked it yet. It certainly got me a good table at the restaurants, so it wasn’t all bad.
Arnold Palmer made good on his promise at making a run at me. He made birdies on the first six-holes to my four. This tied us at fifteen under, going into the heart of the old course.
We both parred the seventh hole known at Tel-el-Kebir. I never did learn what that stood for. The next hole the Postage Stamp took back two strokes from both of us, so we were even at thirteen-under.
The Monk and Sandhills yielded pars, and then we came to the Railway. Arnold pushed his ball left into a bunker. This cost him a stroke as he had a bogey. I managed par making a fifteen-foot putt by having it hang upon the lip then dropping after hanging on for an eternity. Well, maybe a split second but it seemed an eternity.
I now had the lead by one stroke.
Palmer came back on the Fox with a par but so did I.
On the thirteen-hole Brumah, I came a cropper. What should have been a respectable par turned into a double bogey. Now Arnold Palmer had the lead at twelve under while I was at eleven under.
We both managed par on all the holes up to eighteen. I had to make a birdie to tie if Arnold parred and or he would have to mess up. I didn’t think he would mess up.
I hit my longest drive of the day up the middle. I was in a particularly good position to hit a wedge onto the green just below the hole.
Mr. Palmer must have been feeling the pressure because while twenty yards short of me, his wedge hit the green and didn’t stick, it ran up the green and over the edge going out of bounds.
The penalty cost him the tournament as I was able to land just shy of the pin and put it in for a birdie.
I won, while Arnold got the prize money all fourteen hundred pounds or a little over three thousand American dollars.
