These verses were found one morning during the 1894 Championship lying on the floor of the clubhouse, and were written from “The Cottage, New Romney.”
According to Mabel Stringer in her book “Golfing Reminiscences” “The original is, or was, preserved among the archives of the Littlestone Ladies’ Club.”
Sixty-four ladies, golfers all,
Stout and large and thin and small,
For the championship fought at Littlestone,
To let the champion there be shown.
Dear “Auntie Drake” of sturdy make,
With heart so large and tender;
Tho’ named a drake, my word you’ll take,
She’s of the female gender.
And “Niecey” too looms into view,
Armed with her brassy trusty;
And if she’s down, she ne’er will frown
Nor turn the least bit crusty.
Now Starkie-Bence, with drives immense,
Clears both canal and bunker,
But on the Green, it will be seen,
The little hole will funk her.
Dame Cameron will hammer on,
In spite of all disaster.
With stately mien, a golfer keen,
There’s few who can outlast her.
E. Catterall might scatter all,
If in the fateful draw
She had not got the champion “Scott,”
Who is a golfer braw.
Now Lottie Dod, so neatly shod,
Stands forth upon the tee;
On tennis green she is the queen,
At golf what will she be?
But Peregrine Birch can’t be left in the lurch,
She’s got a rod in pickle;
D. Jeffrey, she, ‘twixt you and me,
Doth much my fancy tickle.
Mrs Stanley Stubbs, on the green has rubs
Which she takes with a smile benign;
Though golfing of late has turned her pate,
Yet singing is more in her line.
A dame from France[i] now meets our glance,
Round whom opinion rages,
And whether she will beat I.P.
Will be seen in final stages.
Mrs Stewart, a golfer who grew at
A forest near Tunbridge Wells;
So neat in her play, ‘tis needless to say
She’ll make a good match for the swells.
Our thoughts now linger around Miss Stringer,
The local Captain genial
We’ll long recall her care for all,
She’s slaved like any menial.
The famous “Lena”[ii], have you seen her
Deadly short approaches?
When these you see, you will agree
This golfer Tom Dunn coaches
As Mrs Willock, drives a hillock
Somebody call out “Ah!
Now what is that?” “You silly flat,
She is a rising star.”
Mrs Hoare from the West must play her best
In meeting a Wimbledon crack,
She must drive along ball, or she will feel small
With this golfer whom caddies do back.
Miss Terry is a strong one, very,
She’ll ‘terryfy’ the field;
A golfer she from Anne’s-by-Sea,
Who can her driver wield.
A Southdown player[iii], who is not a stayer,
As “Mashie” arrives on the scene;
In writing she’ll shine, more than in the golf line,
For “divots” she’s noted, I ween.
The Wimbledon pet is Miss Issette,
Who plays a real good game;
Lady Margaret Scott might prove too hot
Unless a “dark horse” came.
[i] Mrs Tennant
[ii] Miss Lena Thomson
[iii] Miss Blanche Martin
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