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Original Issue


Sixteen Scottish ladies, members of a curling team which spent four weeks playing clubs in the U.S. and Canada, last week engaged the Westchester Wicks (a wick is when one stone strikes another) at the St. Andrews Golf Club, Hastings, N.Y., the oldest, established, permanent golf club in the U.S.

In the cold and rather dismal climate of the indoor rink, the women—the Scots in Balmorals, tartans and employing little push brooms, the Wicks using corn brooms—sent the 42½-pound-stones off with the rumble of a subway train. The skips, or captains, directed their teammates with cries of (from Westchester), "Come on, Henderson, get after this one!" and (from Scotland), "You need a wee bit of weight this time!"

Although the proficient Scots won handily ("We were creamed," admitted one staid old Wick), there was no gloom in Westchester. The proper emphasis in curling, which, as a chap related at the St. Andrews bar, is "either the stupidest game in the world or the most fascinating," is not so much on winning as on camaraderie. A sign in the warming room of the curling house at St. Andrews admonishes the players to remember that "We're Brothers A'." Or Sisters A'. From their gracious smiles at the postmatch tea, the girls remembered.

Happy scots, Mrs. Jenny Nicol, Kirkcaldy; Mrs. Pretsel Stirrat, Perth; Mrs. Mary Forrester, Kirkcaldy; Mrs. Sheila Alexander, Edinburgh, beam economically.

Scots skip, Mrs. Mary Highet, Ayr, shows with broom where stone should go.

Peering intently after her stone is Mrs. Jack Henderson, Hastings, N.Y. Women deliver a slower stone then men but achieve the same degree of accuracy.

Westchester wick, Mrs. James Young, Hartsdale, N.Y., delivers stone.

Postmatch tea finds the Mmes. Alexander, Stirrat, Forrester relaxing under portrait of John Reid, founder of St. Andrews and the father of American golf.