Dad’s Army

It takes many hands and endless toil to keep Portsea in the conversation about Australia’s best golf courses. While superintendent Kyle Wilson and his team lead the charge, for several decades the course has been blessed to have a second line of defence – the motley crew known as Dad’s Army.

“Portsea has a long association with having a volunteer group who love getting in and getting their hands dirty,” Kyle says of a collection of weeders and dabbers and odd jobs men who for 30 years have been caring for their course as if it was their own garden. “When they play golf, to see the fruits of their labour gives them a sense of pride and ownership as well.”

The life membership awarded to the late Bob Dunball in 2011 in part acknowledged his role as the veritable Captain Mainwaring of the Dad’s Army platoon. Long-serving foot soldier Chris Ekinsmyth recalls he and Bob having prostate cancer together (“not in the same bed, at the same time”). Chris recovered, Bob tragically succumbed. Humour sustains those he left behind. Liz Seward, wife of another veteran volunteer Alan, reckons you can’t be in Dad’s Army unless you’ve had your prostate out.

The very first day they went to work stays with Chris, as does the pivotal part that was played by Stewart Sherrin. “Stewart was into indigenous plants – he hated the cypress trees,” Chris said of an introduced species planted by Arthur Relph, that once lined ridges around the course, were prominent in the vicinity of Delgany, and still dominate the landscape at the quarantine station. “The day Dad’s Army started there was Stewart, Bob and I. We planted Correas and other native bushes.”

The steep bank alongside what was then a newly-constructed tee, now the 18th, is but one small legacy of the group’s work. In the years since, more than two dozen members have given their time and energy to the Dad’s Army cause, along with half a dozen ‘Dabbers’, so named for their work walking the fairways armed with weed-spraying wands.

“What we try and do is assist the superintendent in the things that he hasn’t got enough guys to do,” Alan Seward says. “Things that need to be done around the course, just to improve the vista, the playability and the speed of play. They (Kyle’s team) look after the tees, greens and fairways and we can assist in various bits and pieces with the rest of it.”

Whether four or 14 turn up, the weekly non-playing visit to their course starts with a 9am cuppa before heading down to the maintenance shed to collect whatever tools are required. Alan will invariably have discussed the day’s mission with Kyle, and off they go. They return to the clubhouse at lunchtime and pick up where they left off the next week.

Tangible infrastructure built by Dad’s Army includes the boxes that dot the course for sand, buckets and rubbish, and the seats. Unwanted trees have been painstakingly dug out. The Rhagodia, or salt bush creeper, that grows around the ancient Moonah trees and can’t be reached with a mower demands regular attention.

Another invader that is the bane of golf courses near and far, Parramatta grass, pops its seed head and rat tail grass through the fairways so doggedly that Syd Thomson and Ron Ashmore were moved to form the Dabbers (or ‘Fairies’, depending who is telling the story). “They have poisoned wands and dab each with a bit of Roundup like fairies,” Alan Seward says.

Ron Ashmore developed the bespoke “wands” used by Syd and his crew, complete with little sponge for dabbing. The laborious process has been undertaken for the past seven years, hole-by-hole with such success that Syd reports that very little Parramatta grass remains. “The result has been dramatic. There was one particular hill that was smothered in it, now it’s gone.”

This is no small triumph. Syd recalls attending an Alex Russell Society event in which the superintendent at Royal Melbourne gave a talk complete with slideshow, in which Parramatta grass could be found among the fairway grass. Syd approached him afterwards and reported getting rid of 95 percent of the cursed turf. 

“He said, ‘When you’re finished at Portsea, please come to Royal Melbourne!’”

There have been many notable achievements from Dad’s Army regulars too. Years ago they cleared the jungle that had grown between Delgany and the adjacent concrete path, which included olive trees grown from pips that had long-before been thrown over the fence. That job took six weeks. More recently, thinning out the Polygala and Moonahs from the practice putting green to the end of the clubhouse opened up the view of the course for hotel guests.

Clearing has been a common theme, unearthing a staggering number of lost balls that Chris takes home, soaks in White King and returns to Portsea free to a good home. He notes that so much dense scrub and trees have been removed over the journey that the days of barely being able to see one hole from the next are long gone. For some this is problematic. “Someone told me the other day he can’t find anywhere to have a pee on the course where he won’t be seen!” Alan says.

Self-deprecation and a cast of characters have been constants. Like Bill Court, whose Land Cruiser was so big and strong it was known as ‘Hercules’ and could pull trees stumps out with the help of a chain. And Glyn Burns, a big man who got things done with minimal fuss and provided an enormous bag of gloves from his past life driving piles for buildings.

John Nolan was the group’s resident compactor, climbing on the back of the truck to push down piles of branches and cuttings – until the day his foot missed the edge. “That’s been our only real accident – not bad in 30 years,” Chris says. John escaped with a sore shoulder.

Ken Stevens came through unharmed (save for wounded pride) when a maintenance ute he was driving slid off a narrow path and somehow became wedged between two Moonah trees – one against the front bumper, the other the back.

“Kenny was in the front seat shitting himself, everyone else was standing around laughing,” Alan says. It took most of the staff, a tractor and chainsaw to free the captives.

Steve Caspar, son of former Carlton footballer Harry, who also coached Sorrento, is another big man who leaves a deep mark. “When he comes we get twice as much done,” Alan says. Adds Chris: “The rest of us dig trees out, Steve pulls them out by hand.”

The allure of Dad’s Army is strong. John Haydon and Brian Stacey are regulars who don’t even play golf. “But their wives do, so they come along with us.” Nicknames are commonplace, like Geoff ‘Chainsaw’ Portnell, so named because he almost cut his foot off one day. “It didn’t get through the boot thankfully. He never came back.”

Another chainsaw story has Col Thompson at its heart, having a ball cutting down tree after tree as he carved a westward path through the scrub. Until somebody cautioned, “You’d better tap him on the shoulder – he’ll be in the national park cutting all the trees down!”

Before & After – The 2nd Tiger Tee

Peter Cheshire is another Dad’s Army long-timer whose care in all that he does earned a moniker that stuck after he was part of a crew who undertook painting the handrail alongside the deck behind the previous clubhouse. His fellow painters were all-but done and he’d barely covered a couple of metres. “He was so meticulous, he’s been Rembrandt ever since,” Alan says, adding that like many stalwarts he’s made noises about putting his feet up. “But there’s so few of us left, he’s keeping on going. He’s terrific.”

The rise of occupational health and safety has brought an end to Dad’s Army’s chainsaw massacre days and has chipped away at what they are allowed to do. “Our biggest bane,” Chris says of the creep of rules and regulations that can leave volunteers wondering whether it’s all worthwhile. 

They chuckle to recount the time an outside expert was brought in to give them a lecture down at the shed, which included putting a ring of sand around any spilt fluids. Cheekily, Chris asked: “What about garden rakes?” With great excitement the guru responded: “Oh yes! We’ve got a couple of pages on how to use a garden rake!”

But there are no regrets, only a sense of achievement and pride. “When you play you think, ‘Have a look at all that – we did that!’” Alan says. In a simple statement of absolute truth, Chris adds: “You feel as if you’ve contributed to the place.”

DAD’S ARMY ROLL CALL

Present members: Alan Seward, Chris Ekinsmyth, Peter Cheshire, Alan Doodson, Brian Stacey, John Haydon, Steve Caspar, Andrew Head, Phil Carter.

Past personnel: Stewart Sherrin (30 years), Bob Dunball*, Col Bassett*, Peter Williamson, Bill Court*, Ken Stevens, John Nolan, Kit Bailey, Andrew Gregory, Col Thompson, Geoff Coote*, John Moore, John Norris, Geoff Portnell, Jack Campbell*, Kevin Kee, Brian Leonard, Tim Corrigan, Peter Johns. 

Dabbers/Fairies: Ron Ashmore, Syd Thomson, Geoff Green, Virgil Pierini, Peter Tomlinson, Norm Giderson.

General volunteers: Glyn Burns, Paul Thomas, Phil Ristow