Nestled in the rolling hills of Derbyshire, New Mills Golf Club is a charming, quirky course that’s as scenic as it is challenging. With its dramatic elevation changes and stunning views across the Peak District, it’s a tale of two halves – a front nine that lulls you into a false sense of security and a back nine that tests your nerve and your club selection. The fairways are generally forgiving, but the greens, as we discovered, can be a bit of a lottery when not at their best but it was against this picturesque backdrop that the Alfie Noakes Golf Society descended for the Alfs Challenge Cup, and what a day of chaos and chuckles it turned out to be.
Ladies and gentlemen, gather round the 19th hole as I recount the latest shenanigans of the Alfie Noakes Golf Society at New Mills Golf Club for the Alfs Challenge Cup, proudly sponsored this week by the one and only Bert Blower. The sun was shining, the fairways were calling, and the dry stone walls were apparently magnetic. Here’s how it all went down, with a generous dollop of chaos and chuckles.
The day kicked off under superb weather – blue skies, a gentle breeze, and just enough warmth to make you regret that extra bacon butty at breakfast. But before we could even tee off, the farce began. Our esteemed captain elect, Steve, who’s usually reliable for at least bringing something to the party, completely forgot the trophy. Not the wrong one this time (a step up from the last debacle), but entirely absent. The fines were piling up faster than Len’s complaints, and trust me, that’s saying something. Steve’s knew his wallet was in for a hit even before he swung a club.
Speaking of Len, the poor chap was at the heart of the great buggy debacle of 2025. We’d reserved four buggies – or so we thought. Turns out, the pro at New Mills forgot to log them in the system despite written confirmation, leaving us buggy-less and Len in full sergeant-major mode, giving yours truly a dressing-down that could’ve peeled paint off the clubhouse walls. After some frantic scrambling, we rustled up two buggies and a single-seater for Len, who was less than thrilled. Ron (rustle rustle), ever the gentleman, sacrificed his ride so everyone could play, earning himself a sainthood nomination and probably a free pint later.
The first tee was a spectacle. Despite the wide-open fairways, some of our members’ drives were drawn to the dry stone walls like moths to a flame. You’d think they were aiming for a masonry sponsorship. Len, bless him, nearly bagged a hole-in-one – a pity it was on the second green while playing the first. The man’s enthusiasm is unmatched, even if his aim needs a sat-nav.
Sadly the buggy saga took a tragic turn when Len’s single-seater sputtered to a halt before even reaching the first green. There he was, wheezing his way back to the clubhouse, defeated by technology and a distinct lack of horsepower. Meanwhile, Ben provided the slapstick moment of the day, collapsing in a bunker like a silent movie star. Mike swore he’d broken a leg, comparing Ben’s tumble to the sinking of the Bismarck. Spoiler: Ben was fine, though his pride (and possibly his sand wedge) took a beating.
The greens at New Mills were, to put it kindly, a bit of a lottery. Pitted, diseased, and bumpier than a country lane, they turned putting into a game of pinball. Chipping was no better – with balls ricocheting in random directions. Ben, still recovering from his bunker dive, yanked the flag stick on one green, only to pull up the whole cup to! Souvenir, Ben? Or just auditioning for groundskeeper?
New Mills itself is a course of two halves – a quirky layout with stunning views and enough challenges to keep you honest. Unfortunately, my swing decided to take a holiday, leaving me with a score so dire I was shanghaied into wearing the dreaded visor for the worst round of the day. I’m still checking the rulebook to see if I can lodge an appeal.
But amidst the chaos, there were moments of brilliance. Joe, our hero of the hour, not only bagged an eagle but announced it with a roar that echoed across New Mills, possibly waking up half of Derbyshire. That eagle earned him a well-deserved share of the twos pot along with New Alex and Ron (Rustle Rustle).
No Doh was no slouch either, clinching nearest-the-pin and a superb 39 points to take runner-up spot, edging out Mike on countback. But the day belonged to Joe, whose monstrous 45 points secured a stunning victory. The man played like he’d made a deal with the golfing gods.
Despite the buggy blunder and the greens’ best impression of a lunar landscape, the day was a riot of laughter, camaraderie, and the kind of stories that’ll be retold until our next outing. Here’s to Shrigley Hall next week – they’ve got dozens of buggies, so surely nothing can go wrong. Right?
