LOBDEN GOLF CLUB
WHITWORTH - LANCASHIRE
Welcome to the Official Website of Lobden Golf Club
Founded 17th May 1888
The Hon. President The Lord of the Manor of Rochdale
Results 2004
Lobden Saturday
It’s Saturday morning, expectations are high
But the way you’ve been playing, God only knows why
But hope springs eternal so you load up the clubs
Not many clouds and a light dew on the shrubs
But the weather at Lobden .. it’s pouring with rain
You’re going to get soaked to the skin once again.
That gentle breeze makes you think things are just fine
But when you get up to Lobden it’s a gale force nine.
You’re a seasoned campaigner so it’s chin up and go
It’s off up to Whitworth only ten minutes or so
You talk to yourself as your thoughts start to spin
‘I will par the seventh’ ‘for Christ’s sake sign in.’
It’s past Annabella’s and slow down for the trap
You’ve done this so often no need for a map
Turn right at the pub up the one in five track
Only one final hurdle, the mad dog attack.
It’s onto the car park, no reserved space for you
You look up at the sky and you hope to see blue
But grey is the colour and rain clouds the name
And the wind is an easterly straight from the Ukraine
It’s clubs out, waterproofs, woolly hat, trolley
Hip flask, gloves, two jumpers and brolley
Sign up for next week, write your card, pay your fee
Share some banter, get focused and it’s off to first tee
The competition awaits and it’s time to swap cards
Your drive isn’t pretty, maybe ninety five yards
But four hours later everything has gone fine
A tap in on the eighteenth, a nett fifty nine.
At last you have cracked it, a board prize no less
No more nil returns, no more failure or stress
You start planning your speech and enjoying the win
Oh no! Am I dreaming?... I didn’t sign in!!
The Seventh
I hate Julian Clary, Ian Paisley and Chris Evans
I have recurring nightmares of a golf course full of sevens
The seventh hole at Lobden above everything I hate
Sometimes I think I’m cursed or it’s just a twist of fate
It’s the child of the devil, it’s come straight to us from hell
It’s got both witchcraft and voodoo plus some black magic as well
The seventh hole at Lobden makes the Exorcist seem tame
When you’re putting for a ten ... remember golf is just a game!
I don’t believe it’s only me who blows it on this hole
It ties your guts in knots even if you’re on a roll
So what the hell explains why so many come unstuck
Why skill goes out the window and it’s down to prayers and luck?
If I went to a shrink I know just what he’d find
It’s not the clubs, the wind ,the landscape .. it’s all in your mind!
So the seventh is a mirage … a figment of my dreams
And the reeds that ate my ball are not really what they seem
Now call me doubting Thomas, but as sure as eggs is eggs
This looks and smells like grass at the bottom of my legs!
The ball I’ve hit has landed and as far as I can see
It bounced on terra firma … so it’s not a fantasy!
Just in case I’m dreaming or it’s advanced senile decay
I bought a map of Whitworth from the Ordnance Survey
And sure enough there’s Lobden and the club house marked in black
A flag to show a golf course; the moors, the farms, the track
So that proves there is a seventh and it proves that I’m not mad
But before I go much further please share an idea that I’ve had!
I’ve hired a helicopter I want to hover overhead
To see that evil seventh and put my doubts to bed
From my helicopter a plan is very clearly seen
Three straight shots up the fairway and two putts on the green
‘It’s easier said than done’ says a voice inside my mind
If I said that I’m not confident, I think that would be kind
The seventh requires a closer look to plot and analyse
Let’s chop it into sections and cut it down to size
The drive is all important, I could write a book or two
On places I have hit the ball … and so I’ll bet could you
An acre of rough to clear from your tee shot’s line of sight
At the top of the hill on both sides are the reeds on left and right
A black and white fairway marker for the drive so straight and true
The wind it rarely helps. But this is Lobden so what’s new ?
So the gods they have been kind and at least you find your ball
But the next fairway marker is of sod all use at all
Because no matter how straight you are and no club will be enough
You’ll be playing your next shot from the right side semi rough.
All down this right hand side there are a thousand reed clumps growing
The only consolation is you can now see where you’re going
Your shot to the green looks quite good as it sails through the air
But the seventh hole at Lobden has a surprise awaiting there
The ball lands in the middle and your look of sheer delight
Turns to utter disbelief as it kicks off wildly to the right
The putting can be tricky; remember the seventh does not forgive
Although it may not matter now ; you’ve lost the will to live !
Thank God that that’s all over, a par five , index sixteen?!
A sense of humour on the Council?.. I now see what you mean!
So the seventh hole at Lobden redefines what’s meant by ‘pain’
Cheer up lads in nine hole’s time .. we can play this swine again!!
Dave Washington
2.11.2005
Lobden Golf Club, Whitworth, Lancashire
Tel/Fax: 01706 343228. Email Lobden Golf Club