When Brian retired, he decided to take up golf. It wasn’t a natural fit at first; he had never been much of an athlete. But the local golf club in Connemara offered more than just a sport—it became a gateway to new friendships and a strong sense of belonging in the community. And to be brutally honest, for me it was a godsend. It got him out of the house! I don’t feel like i’m being hard on him here, it was a joke we shared whilst he was alive.
At first, Brian’s skills were modest, to put it kindly. He’d come home with stories about losing balls in the heather and narrowly avoiding wayward shots. And cars. But what he lacked in talent, he made up for in good humour, the bedrock of Irish life. The club members quickly grew fond of his easygoing nature and his infectious laugh. And his euro coins…
One of his closest friends at the club was Tom, a retired fisherman with a knack for storytelling (erm a must have trait in Connemara). Over rounds of golf and pints at the pub afterward, Brian and Tom would exchange tales about their lives and the quirks of Connemara. Brian often joked that Tom’s advice on golf was about as useful as a map with no compass, but their camaraderie was genuine. Strangely enough, they never once went fishing together.
The golf club’s social events also brought us closer to the community. From charity tournaments to informal dinners, these gatherings were a highlight of our time in Connemara. I still remember the annual Christmas party, where Brian, dressed as Santa Claus, handed out prizes with his signature wit. He always found a way to turn even the smallest moments into cherished memories. Lots of drunken memories i struggle to quite remember but we made friends and they’re still around me today.
Brian’s time at the golf club also meant time in the garden. (Tbh i would have paid his membership fees myself just for this…) he was out perfecting his swing (or trying to), I could immerse myself in my plants. It became a perfect balance for both of us—our own spaces to grow and connect, but always coming back together to share the stories of the day. Usually a little tipsy i might add.
Even now, when I pass the golf course or hear someone share a hearty laugh at the pub, I think of Brian. His time at the club wasn’t just about golf, i mean he would admit himself he was rubbish; it was about finding joy, making lifelong friends and embracing the spirit of Connemara. Be it through ‘sport’ or the 19th hole.