ERNIE Kuttner is 92 years old. And gets in nine ‘miserable’ holes (he says) at Margate Country Club every week. First thing on a Monday, along with his partner Margaret Ford.
Pushes his cart. No riding for him, no thanks. The pace of play is not as slow as you might think.
They let two others go through as we were ‘faffing’ around taking photos. That was on the 7th hole.
“Now look how long they’ve made us wait,” chirped Margaret, when one of them took a few too many blows to get out of the rough.
Ernie’s mind is still as sharp as a tack, the eyesight okay. The hearing seems decent enough.
“No, it’s not, he’s stone deaf,” countered Margaret. “It must be your loud voice carrying to him.” Come to think of it, I was upwind.
Ernie, a chemical engineer by profession, started playing ‘many, many moons’ ago.
“My two sons took up the game when they were about 12 or 13 or so. They taught me,” he said.
He was a reasonable player, too. “The lowest handicap I had was a nine, but I don’t play competitions anymore.”
The Wednesday Wobblers miss his company on the course, but he still wears the hat: ‘Grumpy Old Man’.
One of his highlights was winning the Vyrn Adams Mixed Trophy at Margate in 1996. “Our names are on the board,” he said.
He’s right, I checked. Margate may want to add an ‘n’ the surname, which currently reads Kutter.
Ernie left some of his best golf for the latter years. At the age of 89 he aced the 16th at Margate Country Club.
He’s also broken his age three times. “Did it when I was 80, 82 and 84,” he said, a steely glint in his eye.
He’s also broken his shoulder. “Fell off a ladder while painting a spot on the roof,” he lamented. That was when he was 89. It curtailed his golf for a while.
But he’s a determined golfer, and not much stops him getting out for his nine holes a week. Not even the sweltering African heat. Even if they are – as he deems – ‘miserable’.
Ernie turned 92 on December 29 last year. He misses sharing a birthday with Tiger Woods (and my mother-in-law) by one day. “I would have preferred it to have been someone else,” he said with a little grin.
I think he was referring to Tiger the golfer.
Much of his early golf was played at Benoni Lake in Johannesburg. He retired to the coast about 25 years ago.
I met up with him and Margaret on the 7th hole, which was playing into a brisk north-east wind.
His drive was solid, as was the second, both rolling a decent distance, helped by the flat, dry fairway.
The third, or was it the fourth, dribbled into the front left bunker.
He popped it out – on the second attempt. And two-putted in about as calm a fashion as Ivan Curlewis would. Knocked in the six footer with no fuss at all. Sucked the ball out with the end of his custom-made grip.
“What was that, a six or a seven?” I asked. “Don’t know, I don’t keep score!”
And that folks, may be the secret to a happy golfing existence…
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