My Secret Sister: Jenny Lucas and Helen Edwards' Family Story (26 page)

In the following months, I played in the England team at the European Championships and in the winning British team at the Commonwealth Championships, won the Wills Match Play tournament and played for Great Britain in California and Columbia, as well as in the Home Internationals.

1976 saw the peak of my amateur career – I won the first ever Women’s British Open at Fulford. Only a few days before, in bed with a rasping chest infection, I thought I wouldn’t be able to play. The antibiotics helped me on the way to recovery, but I was still quite congested and muggy right up to the day, and I dithered about whether to withdraw. In the end, I thought, ‘Oh, what the heck. I’ll go.’ I’m glad I did!

It seems strange to say it now, but I started out that first day of the tournament knowing I could win. I believed in myself and thought anything was possible. I’ve always just played my own game, unconcerned about what others are doing around me or how the crowds are responding. The only time I was conscious of feeling nerves was on the first tee, with the crowds all around me – that’s when the butterflies fluttered. But once I got under way, I was always fully intent on what I was doing there – I just played the game, shot by shot. I kept a complete focus on making a par at every hole. If I managed a birdie, fine. I never considered dropping any shots. Even if I did, I knew I could always make it up on the next hole. I was always very positive, like my Dad, and I maintained that strong attitude at every point of the match.

I was two shots behind the leader at the start of the final round, but I was so concentrated on my own game that I didn’t notice how the other players were doing. I was blinkered, always focusing on the next shot throughout the final day.

Fulford is a great golf course. I’ve played there many times since and I always love it, but because it was the first Women’s British Open, there were not enough leader boards around the course, so we often couldn’t see who was up or down the board, or what the scores were. That’s why I arrived at the last tee thinking I had to make a four.

It was a par five hole, which meant, or so I thought, that I had to make a birdie to win. I was positive that I could do this hole in four because that’s what I’d done the day before, so it would simply be a repeat. I focused on my game as usual and reached quite close to the green in two. Then I chipped onto the green and holed a five-footer to win. Of course I thought I had only just made it, but in fact I’d won by two strokes.

The crowd roared and applauded enthusiastically. It was only then that I noticed them and started to feel elated. The golfing press hadn’t forecast me to win. Although I’d beaten many of the other players in the past, they had been seeded higher than me, so it was a surprise to many of the experts when I won over the half a dozen people who were thought to have more chance to win than I did, and who were probably a bit miffed, but they were all very gracious about my stealing it away from them.

Everybody came up to shake my hand, and the officials around the green were all clapping and cheering. Friends ran onto the green to congratulate me and it would have been easy to get carried away with it all, but I knew I had to go and sign my card and hand it in or I would forfeit the title, so that kept me grounded. At the award ceremony which followed, in front of all the crowds, I wasn’t able to accept the money, being an amateur, so I was just presented with the trophy – a plinth holding two Edwardian candlesticks. I could only keep this for a year, till the next British Open. The only thing I was allowed to keep for ever was a gold pin that says ‘British Open Winner’. I still have that.

There was one sad thing about winning the British Open, and that was that Mam, who had worked so hard and for so long to make this possible for me, wasn’t there to see it. She would have been so proud to be part of the crowd that day, but she had to work to earn our keep, so I phoned her straightaway from the clubhouse. She was thrilled and I think the bush telegraph went into overdrive after that!

The day after my British Open win, I received a surprise telegram from my former coach, mentor and friend, Dr Golf himself, John Jacobs. It said:

I told you you’d play for England one day. You’ve done far better than that, haven’t you? Congratulations. Well done. John.

I was moved to tears and treasured this special message throughout my career.

After my Open win and some Curtis Cup matches as the British Champion, I was amazed to receive an invitation to go to Buckingham Palace with other members of the British and USA teams.

The day for the visit came and I was strangely nervous, much more than I ever felt playing golf! It was a weekend, the day of the Trooping of the Colour, and we were meant to meet the Queen at half past ten. We were taken into an anteroom and, moments later, the Master of the Queen’s Household walked in. He explained to us what to do, how to curtsey and that we shouldn’t speak unless spoken to. We were told to say only ‘Good morning, Your Majesty’ when she came to us. After that it had to be ‘Yes, ma’am’ or ‘No, ma’am.’

The Queen had been out to practise riding side-saddle earlier that morning, and as she dismounted her horse had given her a kick, so the royal doctor had been called to check her over and make sure she was all right. Fortunately she was fine.

After some delay, we were taken into the richly decorated room to have our audience. It was fantastic – a wonderful experience. We all had these tiny coffee cups and silver spoons engraved with ER. One of my team colleagues whispered to me: ‘Do you think they’d miss this if . . .?’ She paused, then added, ‘Better not, or they’ll put me in the Tower!’

The Queen was a lot smaller than I had imagined, and was carrying the eternal handbag. She knew all our names and what we had won. She asked how we were and made some general conversation. At that point no one in the Royal Family was really into golf. However, I do remember that she said, ‘I think golf should be in the Olympics again. It used to be in the early years, but it hasn’t been since, has it? It’s much more important than cycling. I can’t understand why cycling is now an Olympic sport but golf isn’t.’

Of course, that was before cycling really took off.

She spoke to us all for quite a long time, asking a lot of questions, especially to the American team, headed by Nancy Lopez. It was a very positive meeting and she was charming, lovely – and well genned up on our careers. I remember it as a really happy morning.

Later that year I was voted joint Daks Woman Golfer of the Year by the golf journalists. I was quite surprised to be chosen for this award, but at the same time I just took everything in my stride. There was a lot of positive press reaction towards me, and that was helpful in preparation for the next exciting stage in my career.

Meanwhile, my relationship with Richard was closer than ever. Connie got on well with him and they were both avid Newcastle supporters, so that helped. We spent happy weekends at Embleton together whenever we could, mainly on the golf course, followed by an early evening drink in the village pub about a mile inland.

My life was too busy with golf commitments to have a normal social life, but Richard never complained about all the times I was travelling away to tournaments – he was always very supportive of everything I did. I felt very lucky to have such a strong relationship. Perhaps I should have read something into the fact that we didn’t mind being apart.

CHAPTER 23

Jenny

A Professional Career

The following year, in 1977, just as I was approaching thirty, I was offered sponsorship to go to the Ladies Professional Golf Association, or LPGA, in the USA and attend their qualifying school. This was a great opportunity and I discussed it with Mam. If I accepted the sponsorship offer, I couldn’t continue to work for her, to help her out and to earn us some extra income between amateur golf tours. This would mean there would be less money coming in to begin with, though the sponsorship money would support me through qualifying school. Of course, there was a small chance I could make the grade to become a professional, which should lead to higher earning opportunities. It was a risk for us financially.

‘I don’t want to leave you in the lurch, Mam,’ I said.

‘Don’t worry about that, pet. Of course you must do this. It’s a wonderful opportunity. We’ll manage.’ She smiled. ‘We always have up to now, Jen, and it’s time for you to step out and take the chance.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course I’m sure. If you don’t give it a go, you’ll always regret it.’

I was glad of her encouragement and support, and Richard’s too, but I still wasn’t sure. As I learned more about what would be involved, I mulled it over. There was in those days a chasm between amateur players in Britain and professional players in America, which was where my sponsorship would take me. It was a daunting prospect, going from being the top golfer in the UK to one of the crowd in the USA. I’d had a taste of it before, when I’d played in a Curtis Cup tournament in San Francisco, but as a professional it would be very different.

I still hadn’t made up my mind when one of the British amateur selectors called me a few days later and launched straight in: ‘We think you might be turning pro,’ he said, as if it might be a crime.

‘Well, where did you hear that?’ I was shocked that he was so confrontational about it. But then I realized that of course this situation would mean I could no longer be available for selection for any of their amateur teams. However, this decision had to be about my own future.

Do you know what? I must have been a bit blasé about the whole thing, because I really didn’t know how many top players would be competing for a small number of places when I decided to go for it. It turned out there were about 120 girls playing for very few places. Just those few would get a player’s card to turn professional. It was a bigger risk, and a greater challenge, than I’d realized.

It was a four-round tournament, with a cut after the first two rounds. The officials said they’d accept any player who played four rounds of 75 or better. I got through the first two days, one round a day, and made it into the last seventy-five. That was when they changed their minds and said that only twelve of us would be awarded professional players’ cards. The top twelve scorers at the end of the fourth round.

My English playing partner, Christine Langford, and I went out for a fish supper the night before the final round. That was a mistake. She chose the crab and was sick all night, poor kid. Really, really sick. The other English girl still in with a chance did her best, but it didn’t work out for her.

I was lucky enough to sail through the early holes. I’d never hit the ball as well in my life as I did that week. I was feeling very competitive and stayed positive, as usual.

My playing partner that last day was an American girl called Sylvia Ferdon. We got on really well, but by the eighteenth hole we were both feeling the tension of needing to make par or only one over to make the grade. That was a lot of pressure.

The last hole was a par five. There was water on the right, trees on the left, and more water just in front of the green. We’d have to hit near enough to the water on the right-hand side to make it an easier right-angled shot onto the green. We both hit our shots way left. Fortunately, we each found ourselves with reasonable lies – a golfing term for the way the ball sits on the grass. I looked at Sylvia and she looked at me, and that was it! We both burst into hysterics, which eased the tension. We calmed ourselves down and both made our pars on the hole, so we waltzed through and have been great friends every since.

When reporters questioned me during the interviews that followed throughout my career and asked what characteristics I relied on to help me win, I always thought back to that fit of hysteria with Sylvia when we were approaching the final hole, and I always gave the same answer.

‘Humour – that’s the best thing. You know, whether you’ve hit a bad shot or a good shot, being able to laugh at yourself, to laugh at your awful score and not to let it get you down, that’s the important part of it. I always managed to laugh at myself, not to take myself too seriously. It’s good to be able to talk to people on the way round; another way to break the tension – switch off for a few moments, then switch on again. You’ve got to be very determined, of course, and get back into that cocoon again.’

So I was now a professional golfer, the only English girl to get in that year, but still as naive as ever. I really didn’t know what I was letting myself in for. Fortunately, the fact that I was playing probably the best golf I’d ever played was a strong buffer for the gruelling tournaments to come, as I flew back and forth to the States on my own. It was a lot to take on, but I got used to it. I paid my way and got on well.

But I missed the calm normality of home times with Richard or with my Mam. Richard came out to join me on his holidays and I introduced him to some of my new golfing friends. We had some good breaks being holiday tourists in some of my favourite places. I treasured those brief interludes with Richard, but most of the time it was a long-distance relationship. The strange thing was, he didn’t seem to mind. I don’t think I questioned this at first. We’d never actually lived together, so these separations didn’t perhaps seem as hard as they might have done. Many of my golfing friends, like me, had dedicated their lives so much to their sport that we all shared that disconnect from everyday life, popular culture and close relationships. Few of us thought ahead any wider than our golf careers. I think this must have been why I was unaware of the years passing by.

I was lucky enough to be the highest earning woman golfer in Europe for two years running, winning the Order of Merit each time. I played as a professional for several years, during which time I did well in most of my matches and won twelve tournaments on the European tour. Fortunately, Richard was able to join me for some of these events.

In one European tournament I mistook my tee-time following a rain delay. Everything was confused with the interruption in play, and the officials had said we would continue at ten o’clock the following morning. What I didn’t know was that they later decided to split the players into two groups, one to start earlier on the first tee, and the other to start on the ninth. My group were now due to start at nine-fifteen. I arrived at the course with what I thought was plenty of time to spare to do some practice shots.