‘Manchester’ and ‘leafy suburbs’ aren’t always two concepts that sit as the most easy bed-fellows. The outside world sees the glittering high-rise of the city centre, the burgeoning tarmac of Manchester International and the increasingly labyrinthine plague of motorways that surround this neck of the woods. But, the world is, happily, sort-sighted.

Over the years, the planners may have done their very best to reduce the rolling acres of Greater Manchester to Fritz Lang’s vision of Metropolis. But they failed. The city and its suburbs remain gloriously intact and no better proof of that can be found, perhaps, than in thee glorious landscape that is Bramhall Park. The Golf Club, that is. The eponymous neighbouring public park is equally splendid but the powers that be get a tad shirty if you’re found lining up your drive on their timber-clad 14th century mansion.

Founded, if that is the mot juste, by four Bramhall gentlemen back in 1894, Bramhall Park is the very epitome of life in the ‘leafy suburbs.’ In those days, it was all very much farmland, which is why the word ‘founded’ has to be used with care. In truth, the Bramhall four, inspired, no doubt, by that year’s Open winner, J.H.Taylor, got together for  a social egg-nog  in October and simply decided to rent a nearby field and, five weeks later, were playing golf on it. Its name, by the by, was Marl Field which, for those in the know, will tell you that it was once home to several clay pits. No doubt an early form of Bramhall bunkers. But, that’s called enterprise and it’s what made Manchester famous.

By the turn of the century, things has taken a rather more conventional turn and 1910 saw the opening of a grand and brand new clubhouse. And, in the succeeding years, Bramall Park has grown from being simply a very fine idea into being a very fine golf course. Three par-3’s, two par-5’s and, all in all, some six thousand and forty three yards of very beautiful parkland golf. Off the yellows. Thick with trees and bushes, unlike the farmland of yore, Bramhall Park is a delight in all seasons. No more than a metaphorical stone’s throw from Manchester’s city centre, this glorious golf course stands as living testimony to the resilience of the city’s  -  and the country’s  -  ‘leafy suburbs.’  

The Domesday  Book scribblers had  Bramhall down as Brum-Hale  -  literally, the broom in a secret place. For broom, read pitching wedge. And for secret place, well, it no longer is. After all, you’ve just found out about it.

(GS.)