Glory Days

Every year in April, 640 competitors, accompanied by hordes of friends and onlookers and untold pints of Guinness, descend upon the links courses of England’s Kent coastline to compete for the Halford Hewitt Cup. The weather can be awful by the sea at that time of year. And, outside of the pride of the competitors, the Cup brings no significant reward—no financial windfall or wider recognition. So, why do they do it? Perhaps the better question is: What would you do for your alma mater?

In the grand tradition of getting homework done before heading out with your mates, a brief history lesson is required before diving into the events of the Halford’s 2024 centennial. If there has ever been a school that could be called the best in the world, Eton College has as rightful a claim as any. Founded in 1440 by Henry VI and situated just outside London, it has been for centuries the school of choice for the wealthiest of the wealthy in the United Kingdom and beyond. If you are a billionaire oligarch with young children, apart from a few exclusive schools in Switzerland, Eton is really the only choice.

Regarded as a training ground for world leaders, it has produced 20 British prime ministers, with recent PMs Boris Johnson and David Cameron among them. Robert Walpole, the U.K.’s first prime minister, is an alum, as are William Pitt, William Gladstone and Harold Macmillan. Arthur Wellesley, the Duke of Wellington, who defeated Napoleon at the Battle of Waterloo, was an Old Etonian. And that’s just the U.K. Leopold III of Belgium, Prince Nicholas of Romania and multiple Thai prime ministers and viceroys of India have Eton on their résumé. Anglophiles and tabloid watchers will know that princes William and Harry both attended. Then there are the writers, like Aldous Huxley, George Orwell and Ian Fleming, along with the actors, such as Hugh Laurie, Damian Lewis and Eddie Redmayne. The list goes on, including economist John Maynard Keynes and musician Atticus Ross. Hell, even Bear Grylls went there.

Eton is a giant, then. An institution. Boys educated there leave with the sense that anything isn’t just possible, but that it’s probable. That they have been put on a viable path to success, riches, adventures and victory. Etonians have a swagger that comes from a deep-rooted belief in oneself and one’s place at the table. They expect to win. And win they do.

All of this, of course, makes Eton a target for every other fancy private school. And the U.K. is not short on fancy private schools. (It should be noted that, over here, “private” schools are called “public” schools by virtue of the fact that they are funded by the public, via fees, and not by the state, via grants. For the purposes of this tale, however, we will continue to call them “private.”) Though some may argue the contrary, everyone knows that Eton is top dog among the private schools. And top dogs are a huge scalp, even (especially?) at an alumni golf tournament.

Eton was one of the founding schools of the Halford Hewitt Cup, which began in 1924. The story goes that some friends, John Beck and G.L. “Susie” Mellin, were sharing a boozy lunch at the Addington Club in London’s suburbs when the idea occurred to them to start a cup similar to the Arthur Dunn, which had been played amongst football (soccer) alumni of private schools since 1903. There is a tradition in the U.K. of men representing their schools long after graduation. With many students boarding there from the age of 8, these schools can become akin to family. So the golf-obsessed grads of six schools decided that an annual match should decide which was the best. The question of which “bloody fool” they could persuade to pay for a trophy was answered when a Mr. Halford Hewitt, known by the founders, walked into the room. And now their event had a name. Hewitt presided over every tournament until 1938, when he went off on a cruise instead.

The initial six clubs were joined by two more for the first draw, and the competition was played at various clubs throughout the year, with the final at the Addington. The format was, and remains, 10 players per team breaking down into five twosomes who play five matches—but each team is also allowed a number of non-playing captains, vice captains and general hangers-on, so the contingents can be significant. The founders were themselves accomplished golfers: Mellin was a semifinalist in the 1920 British Amateur, and Beck would go on to captain GB&I’s Walker Cup team in 1938. Back in 1924, stroke play was uncommon; the majority of golf was match play, and usually foursomes (or alternate shot, as it is sometimes mistakenly called), so it was decided that foursomes ought to be the format of the Hewitt. Today, 100 years later, it is without doubt the largest annual foursomes tournament in the world.

The Hewitt is not fully closed; everyone is welcome to come along and join the festivities. Nor is it a place where status or wealth, beyond the basic requirements of entry, are important. Nobody really cares who wins, as long as it’s their school. And not Eton.

By the 1960s, the Hewitt had become incredibly popular. The knockout format meant that 64 teams could be reduced, through six rounds, to two finalists. Those 64 teams play a total of 63 interschool matches—315 games played in total across four very full days. Thursday is the day everyone competes. It is followed by a not-insignificant amount of drinking afterward, mostly because more than 300 people have been bounced from the bracket. In Hewitt parlance, making it through Friday means “getting to the weekend,” an achievement that several schools have never accomplished in the history of the tournament. 

Eton generally makes the weekend. Yet despite its trophy case, there is one honor it cannot claim: oldest school in the U.K. That goes to the King’s School, Canterbury, which was founded in 597. That’s not a typo: It really did start 1,427 years ago, nearly 130 years after the fall of Rome. King’s has its own swagger, but a quieter, more dignified one. Situated in the gentle fold of Canterbury Cathedral, King’s boys (and girls, since 1990) carry their ecclesiastic forbearance through life. The flash pomp of Old Etonians is not for them. But that is not to say the pain of defeat does not burn, and that is what King’s suffered in its first Hewitt match against Eton. Played in 1958, it was a close one. Sorry, that is a typo: King’s was trounced, 5-0. It lost 3-2 in the second encounter, in 1970; the same losing score marked matches played in 1971 and 1981. Things didn’t get better in 2004, and a run of matches in 2015, 2018 and 2023 resulted in another trio of thumpings. Across eight encounters between 1958 and 2023, King’s won only nine games out of a possible 40.

What makes this even harder for King’s to take is that the Hewitt is played in its backyard. After the initial competition of 1924, it was noted that the weekend matches were difficult to arrange at the busy London clubs. Hewitt, who was a member at the Addington, was also the treasurer at Royal Cinque Ports, along the coast in Kent. It was wisely decided that a weekend away at the seaside would be more conducive to what the founders dubbed “a jolly good laugh” than weekdays around London. The competition was moved there in 1925 and has stayed since. Due to a British quirk of never calling anything by its actual name if it can be avoided, Royal Cinque Ports is known as Deal, just as Royal St. George’s, which is next door and has hosted 15 Open Championships as well as half of the early-round matches of the Hewitt since 1950, is known as Sandwich. Deal and Sandwich are a 30-minute drive from the King’s School, so at least the sorely defeated losers of all those matches didn’t have far to get home with their tails between their legs.

These days, the Addington is owned by Ryan Noades and his family, who have been working through a spectacular restoration of the course with Clayton, DeVries & Pont. Noades also happens to be an old boy of King’s. And, as luck would have it, King’s drew Eton in the first round. King’s has been slowly building recently, reaching a semifinal in 2015 and a quarterfinal in 2023, both of which it lost resoundingly to Eton. So this felt like the perfect opportunity for payback.

The team was well prepared. They had some professional (sounding) pre-game talk from Noades—something about “inch by inch” that he lifted from a movie about American football that no one understood. They approached the first tee determined to avenge the years of ignominy. The crowds buzzed as the first shots were struck.

King’s lost, 5-0.

“We backloaded our team as Eton frontloaded,” Noades told me. “We were down in the first two matches, which was expected, then up in the third and all square in the back two, but with strong players on our side. So it looked like we would see a 3-2 victory, but the middle anchor match flipped on us, and then the rest crumbled.” I think that’s English public school for “We got hammered.”

There is a tradition in the U.K. of men representing their schools long after graduation. With many students boarding there from the age of 8, these schools can become akin to family. 

Despite being founded in 1552, a mere nine years after Copernicus published his controversial theory that the Earth revolved around the sun, the Bedford School has always been a much smaller institution than giants like Eton, and its history in the Hewitt has reflected that. Things changed a few years ago, however, when it established a golf academy. It’s taken a few years for alumni to filter into the Hewitt, but recently the effort has begun to bear fruit: Weekends have finally been reached.

Every year, the losing 32 teams in the first round are entered in the Prince’s Plate, a bonus competition added over time to make them feel slightly less sad about coming all that way to the coast, only to head straight home again. In 2023, Bedford lost its first Cup match but went on a run and claimed the Plate, so hopes were high that a winning formula had been found. The Old Bedfordians weren’t wrong: In 2024, they opened with a defeat of St. Paul’s and then topped Chigwell in the second round. When Winchester and Repton were seen off 3-2 and 3.5-1.5, respectively, the team camp was buzzing. Indeed, rumors began to circulate around the bar that Bedford could actually win this thing. The semifinal was against Cranleigh, and little Bedford won it 3-2. It was into its first-ever final, where, of course, Eton was waiting.

To many, the Halford Hewitt is truly a “you have to be there” type of experience. Its own website says that it’s about reliving youth and catching up with friends, and I suppose that’s true. These kinds of events can allow us to recapture moments and camaraderie that have felt long lost. The glory days. And there is joy and value in that. There is also a certain type of snobbery that comes from private-school exclusivity, and heaven knows some golfers love to revel in that. The Cup draws its competitors from a very narrow set of schools that has not changed in decades. To outsiders, it can seem like a pointless love-in between rich people—and they may have a point. But, upon further inspection, the Hewitt is not fully closed. Anyone can come and spectate. The courses are largely open to the public, and as long as you behave appropriately and don’t get in the way, everyone is welcome to come along and join the festivities. Nor is it a place where status or wealth, beyond the basic requirements of entry, are important. Nobody really cares who wins, as long as it’s their school. And not Eton.

Once you’re at the matches, it becomes clear that the Hewitt revels in silliness and fun. This is not now, nor has it ever been, a place for formality and pomposity, save for when the formality and pomposity is part of a wry joke. Being over the top for the sake of irony is acceptable and occasionally encouraged. The socializing is as important to the event as the golf. Across the week, every team enjoys a black-tie event at one of the clubs, where full cups and raucous laughter are the orders of the evening. This is not about athletes and preparation. It’s about eccentricity and farce. Yes, it is an opportunity for middle-aged men to pretend they’re 15 again. But it’s also a chance for them to remember what is important in life: humor, glee and fellowship.

That wit could be found in the bar the night before the final, where one Eton supporter quipped to a Bedford groupie that “Eton has never lost a final,” only to be hit with the retort, “And Bedford has never lost one either.”

I asked Colin Beesley, ex-captain and player on the Bedford team, about their game plan. “It’s very simple,” he said. “We get to the club at least two hours before the tee time. We have a minimum of two pints of Guinness; 2.5 is optimal. Deal opens the bar at 7 a.m. Total lifesavers.”

That ideology sums up the philosophy of most participants at the Hewitt, where your attitude toward the competition is as important as the competition itself. It’s not a “win at all costs” event. It’s a “let’s have fun, and if we win, then that’s a bonus” one. That the world’s biggest amateur foursomes event can carry on this way for a century is testimony to its foundation. And it is because of this spirit that the Hewitt will no doubt continue for another hundred years. Its participants are determined to keep coming back. And so they should.

Oh yes, you’re wondering about dear old Bedford and the final match. Well, at the Hewitt, tradition remains king. Eton won it, of course.