Wentworth golf club was not always that posh (The rich vs the very, very rich: the Wentworth golf club rebellion, 2 March). When I was a child it was my playground, as I was dragged there every weekend by my golf-playing parents, who paid a mere £100 or so a year to play. I was left to my own devices to wander round the huge estate, climbing in the huge quarry near the 10th hole on the west course, catching tadpoles and scaling the huge oak trees.
In the spring we picked bluebells, and in the autumn my father came home with vast amounts of mushrooms. We always stopped at the Wimpy in Staines on the way, as the sandwiches at the club were so awful and my mother refused to use the toilets. The fairways were full of old veterans making a few bob out of finding lost balls and selling them. Today, I’m sure they’d be arrested, and boisterous 10-year-olds barred.