On Sunday we left dear Pilgrims' behind,
With putters in hand and adventure in mind.
To Southampton we travelled by coach down the lane,
For an afternoon's crazy golf, hoping no rain.

We entered a world that was wondrous to see,
Where great roaring dinosaurs lurked by each tee.
Bold Vikings stood guarding with axes held high,
And their longships loomed up into the bright sky.

Past tumbling waterfalls our golf balls did flow,
Through caves and dark tunnels with rivers below.
The course was a marvel, designed with such care,
With surprises and twists waiting round everywhere.

Then Enzo stepped forward, composed and serene,
The finest young golfer the course had yet seen.
Hole after hole he sank putts with such flair,
That fellow young players could only just stare.

Poor Mr Jennings had hoped from the start
To show all the boarders his masterful art.
Alas, every putt seemed to wander astray,
And his confident hopes were quite dashed for the day.

But Miss Thackray, who started off slow,
Found her stroke improving with each measured blow.
By the close she was sinking each ball straight and true,
Outscoring most others in our Pilgrims’ crew.

Young Zubin and team met a most cunning foe:
A drainage hole keen to swallow each throw.
Ball after ball plunged on down the dark drain,
And none, sad to say, was recovered again.

A few golf balls vanished in waters and stone,
Borne off on adventures all of their own.
Bemused other players looked on in surprise,
As the boarders cheered loudly, with delight in their eyes.

Steve Leslie
Housemaster (Q School)