Shopper at St. Andrews Finds More Than Golf

It was 10 in the morning when our foursome approached the first tee of the fabled Old Course at St. Andrews, hard by the North Sea in Scotland. We tugged at rain-proof caps and stared into the raging mist.

Tufts of wild grass were shaking in the wind, rustling like the hairs on an elephant’s back, an elephant running for his life. I knew there were greens and sand traps out there; I’d seen them only yesterday at sundown. Now all looked rough.

One of my friends, a steel-willed soul from Wisconsin, placed a luminescent ball on a luminescent tee. She raised the hood of her anorak, peered through the gray of morning, and shot the ball low and clean in the right direction.

“Hooray,� I said softly, with the respect one feels for these historic links where, locals say, golf was born.

Slog Into the Mist

Two fellows followed her lead, though their aim was less straight and sure. They shouldered their bags (no golf carts allowed), then silently slogged away.

I waved until they disappeared, which was not long, given the earthbound clouds and undulating terrain.

So what’s a non-golfer to do? I strode past the imposing Royal and Ancient Clubhouse, whose members formulated rules for the game in 1754, and crossed the street, drawn by amber lights that glowed from a pitched-roofed building opposite the 18th hole.

This warm haven is St. Andrews Woolen Mill, a cavernous shop that sports bales of cashmere, heaps of mohair, and enough soft lamb’s wool to make you wonder what lambs are wearing this season.

They sell Shetland sweaters, Fair Isles and tartan by the yard. They sell travel blankets, yarns for knitting and golf trolley towels, an essential in this fresh climate.

The mill does a brisk business in gloves and tams, in Harris tweed jackets and Burberrys trench coats at prices that may beat London, though the selection cannot match that of the home store on Haymarket near Piccadilly.

The shop is Scottish in large ways and small. It is closed on Sunday. There is a tearoom upstairs.

And, if a 1984-model sweater is marked $90 U.S., it stays at that price, even though the same style in a different color has jumped to $150 by 1986.

The outlet also sells seconds; it is wise to try these items on. Sometimes they are judged seconds because of a visible flaw. Sometimes it is not visible. A friend of mine chose a bargain in lamb’s wool that seemed in perfect condition. It was, except that it was marked size 42 and turned out to be a 38. His daughter loves it.

Patches of Charm

My happiest find was a stash of suede elbow patches in highland hues of granite gray and pale fawn and bluebell blue. The patches are about $2 a pair; they are pierced around the edges and ready to sew on, thus giving new life and charm to old tweeds and cardigans.

I pulled away from the shop only because the sun was threatening to shine and our bus was threatening to leave.

By the time I caught up with the golfers they had changed clothes and were dry. One was still smiling about shooting par on the third hole.

I listened to every chilling detail as I snuggled into a new long cashmere pullover that’s the color of burnished heather in the fall.