Queenwood

Architect: David McLay Kidd

Yup … it happened. I don’t really know where to start. Obviously, many of you who read this will have seen via my ridiculous Instagram story that I received an invite to play Queenwood. Shrouded in secrecy and known to be golfing Nirvana, Queenwood is a bucket list mecca and to pass through the glistening gates is as unachievable as driving down Magnolia Lane. I said on my Instagram posts from the day that:

“Golf has been good to me. It’s on days like today where you realise how fortunate you are. I never take it for granted and never will.”

I will never take my day at Queenwood for granted. I had stratospheric expectations (interesting podcast from Cookie Jar Golf touched on this recently) going in and this relatively new addition to the Surrey golfing landscape simply blew them out the water.

Queenwood opened in 2001. The Membership is closely guarded but there are those that don’t mind sharing. The game’s professionals utilise their facilities and many are members themselves, Ernie Els wrote that “The practice facilities are so good they wouldn’t be out of place at a professional tour event and generally there are not many people around so I can concentrate fully on my game.” Truer words have never been spoken – I shall get to this later. But first a play by play of the day.

The Arrival

Tee time was 13:56. Naturally, I pulled up to the intercom at 12:56, uttered the name of my host and the gates lazily swung open. I don’t get nervous playing golf, or top golf courses for that matter, but I definitely had a different sensation in my stomach pulling out of first gear, winding my way between exquisite fairways and greens up to the Neo-Georgian Clubhouse.

“Good afternoon Mr Wright, Mr (insert member surname) has not arrived yet but you are welcome to change and have a bite to eat”, said the unsettlingly handsome concierge as I pulled up in my VW – I left the DB5 at home … On handing over my keys, my clubs and bag were removed from my boot. I was shown to the changing rooms, not before walking through a gorgeous Andalusian courtyard – the landscaping here is unrivaled.

I wanted to maximise my full experience of the club and changed into my golf gear. My outfit was, of course, picked out the day before and what a place to break in the fresh creps – the new Harris Tweed Footjoy Premiers. I inadvertently got fully unchanged and changed in front a very nice South African fellow who currently holds the lowest round in a Major Championship. It can be really hard to identify golfers without their headwear on, okay!

The locker room was spotless, rows of mahogany doors wrapping round a gleaming bathroom adorned with top tier colognes and other toiletries – all free to use. And to top it all off, the locker room flowed into the classiest of lounges, glorious furnishings and jaw-dropping memorabilia. A bar too, because why not – “Can I make you a drink, Sir?” “Would you like to have lunch on the terrace?”. Proper stuff – impeccable service.

Our first playing partner, Keith, arrived and received the same treatment, followed by an excitable tour by myself. We then took our seats on the terrace, overlooking the driving range. Practice facilities just don’t get better than this. Bent grass teeing areas – hitting out towards perfect targets, framed by heather encased bunkers. We then watched, as our bags were lugged and placed at our own bays decorated with pyramids of Pro-V1s. Unfortunately I had already eaten, but Keith and our host had not. I drowned in envy as the most decadent Club Sandwich arrived – this clubhouse staple was elevated to the highest order – sourdough bread no less. Scran consumed, my brother then waltzed through the Clubhouse doors. We descended the steps and approached our bags and began striping balls off the pristine turf towards the back of the range.

A gentleman in white overalls, pocketed towel – wet on one end, approached us. Having been a caddy, having a caddy was quite a novelty and an absolute luxury. Today was already a good day and I hadn’t even seen the first tee.

The Game

Arriving onto the first tee, greeted by refrigerated apples and bottles of water, was just another exquisite touch. Taking just a few more pencils, tees and ball markers is not theft before you say so! It’s like a kid in a sweet shop – hard to stop oneself. A really nice touch is the ball markers, hundreds of one pence pieces – possibly a bit of humour considering the rumoured membership fees. Match rules were dictated – fourball betterball with myself and our host against my brother and Keith – no shots given. What then transpired off the first tee was a journey. I don’t even remember being particularly nervous, a lack of concentration maybe but no shaking of the knees. Either way, I topped my drive 20 yards into the waist-high fescue. I haven’t done this in maybe 5 years. My subsequent shots were as follows:

• 2nd shot – Chunked 20 yards – still in fescue.
• 3rd shot – Chunked 25 yards – fairway.
• 4th shot – Topped 3-wood 75 yards – still fairway.
• 5th shot – Flushed 8 iron to 2ft.
• 6th shot – Bogey.

The hole was halved in bogey. My contribution to the game had begun!

The following 8 holes were pretty disastrous. A collection of doubles, bogeys and pars. At the end of the day, I wasn’t here for my score – I picked up a scorecard but only for keepsake. However, I did start keeping score after the tenth. This round really was a tale of two nines, I even remember saying so after the turn. How funny this game is, it keeps you right in it, fully engaged – wishing upon every swing. It’s never over till it’s over.

The tenth at Queenwood is arguably the signature hole. A dog-leg right with the tee shot straight down hill, you round the corner and what awaits you is a magnificent green, guarded by a serene body of water. The green slopes back to front, and this day, the pin was the quintessential funnel pin. Three of us fired in darts from 110 yards, finishing an accumulative 15 feet away – my brother unfortunately let the side down with a rank shank. My 2nd resulted in a treacherous sliding downhill putt, poured right in the middle. My only birdie of the day. However, we then jumped aboard the par train all the way home. A one-under back-nine … I was in dream land. I didn’t even allow myself to say it the whole way in – didn’t want to give myself the commentators curse. I played some really steady golf that afternoon – lagged everything close. Couldn’t be prouder.

The Course

It is so cliché to say “there isn’t a blade of grass out of place” – I mean we hear it every April. But when I tell you that there isn’t a blade of grass out place, I mean it. The grounds here make Kew Gardens look like a recreation ground, or a Milton Keynes roundabout. It is truly stunning and I could have had as much enjoyment even without my sticks. In fact maybe that is the qualifier for a top golf course. I can happily walk around Sunningdale, Woking or Wentworth and have a sensational day, having not hit a single shot. Maybe this is the true criteria for a Top 100 list. Discuss.

Queenwood is idyllic. It perhaps doesn’t have the rustic charisma of Sunningdale, but it gets pretty close. I’d liken it closest to the West Course at Wentworth – for both aesthetics and playability. Sensational putting surfaces, demanding tee shots and eloquent bunkering, all infused with expert heather planting and deliberate water hazards.

It was hands down the most fun I have ever had when playing approach shots. I could actually plan to play the ball behind the pin for it to funnel back. There aren’t many courses in this country where this is possible, whether its due to weather or sticky poa greens. But to watch the ball react as seen on TV is quite the thrill. Putting was equally entertaining, huge surfaces but with wicked slopes akin to Woking or West Hill. Pure bent-grass perfection. Creeping bent-grass in fact. Even if you have putted on the best surfaces in the country, you would still notice a difference here. Firstly, the colour of the greens were completely unique – a silvery green, looking like the tightest, most pristine astro-turf you have ever strode upon. We definitely had some enticing and captivating pin positions – I am sure that there would be some implausible ones out there. I can scarcely imagine what this place would look like during the Club Championships – and who would be playing in them!

I can now quite comfortably say that I have had the surreal good fortune to have played, what are considered to be, the two most manicured golf courses in Europe (Real Club de Valderrama being the second). Perhaps I can one day ride the crest of this fortune over the Atlantic to a little town called Augusta. Here’s to that.