It is doubtful whether anyone, certainly anyone born in America, loved Ireland more than John Larkin, who was born of an Irish family in Boston 71 years ago. One of his daughters is named Kerry, when he opened a pub in Orlando he called it The Kerryman (after the paper), and when he sold the pub he did so to a family with the last name of Kerry!

He made many golfing trips to Ireland over the years, while at home he gave expression to his golfing interest by establishing the Million Dollar Mulligan, a family golf centre, in Kissimmee. His family knows that he will rest in peace in the Dell.

Of course, having one's ashes spread or interred on a golf course is now a timehonoured practice even to the extent that it has become the subject of planning constraint in some American states.

In Ireland, Irish-American millionaire John Mulcahy so loved the links which he established at Waterville with the help of Eddie Hackett, that he had the tee at the parthree 17th specially elevated to afford a panoramic view of the entire property. That tee is known as Mulcahy's Peak and, hardly surprising, the great man's ashes are interred beneath it.

In San Diego, California, local property mogul Doug Manchester developed the Tom Fazio-designed Del Mar Golf Club and liked it so much that he sought permission to devote an acre of scenic land to a five-plot private cemetery for his family.

Locals gave him a bashing on the basis that he was arranging a family RIP above a VIP course. Begrudgers are everywhere!

There was at least one case of a golf course cemetery being used as a political weapon.

That was in 1913 at Lake Zurich Country Club, north of Chicago, which was so exclusive it had only 40 members . . . the most influential people in town. A railroad wanted to extend a spur to Lake Zurich and, invoking eminent domain, the town council accommodated the railroad by condemning part of the land on the third hole.

So the physician members had the remains of four people brought to the club. The lawyer members drew up papers having the course declared a cemetery and the coffins were buried in an elaborate ceremony accompanied by a Chicago jazz band. The railroad relented.

The gravestone had this inscription: "Stranger pause and bare thy head, here lie buried four men in this bucolic spot interred to foil the vile machinations of a huge and heartless railroad corporation who, through the iniquitous law of eminent domain, had thought to seize this beautiful spot for its own fell purposes. May these four rest in peace."

Prejudice led to another story at Brewster, New York where insurance company founder CV Starr failed to gain membership in the local country club because he was married to a Chinese woman.

So he built his own course, which is now owned by the insurance giant that bought his company, and he is buried behind the seventh green.

We have also had three poignant moments at the European Club in the past year.

The first was when tarmacadam contractor Dan Kelly, a true gentleman and friend, died suddenly and his family . . .

plus hearse and cortege of over a dozen vehicles . . . honoured us with a visit one Sunday afternoon on the way to his resting place in Wexford. We took that as a great honour from a non golfing friend.

Then came Darrell Davis from Birmingham, where he runs a butchers', who visits Ireland for a golf holiday every year. He always brings a present of a delicious baked ham. This year he came by bicycle and we had to proceed with care when it emerged that he had the ham in one saddle-bag and the ashes of his recently deceased father in the other . . . a mix-up would not do.

After a ham salad he proceeded to Vinegar Hill to spread the ashes overlooking the area where his dad grew up. Amazingly, as he sat on Vinegar Hill preparing to do his dad's wishes, along came a solitary figure who, it transpired, had been in the same class at school with the late Mr Davis. Talk of serendipity.

The latest episode happened in August when a party of 12 American golfers was reduced to 11 through the unexpected death of one. The survivors came anyway in the best spirit of friendship and, after their round, were given the use of golf carts to go back out to the 12th tee for a special commemorative service.

They all teed-up golf balls with the face of their late friend printed on them, took aim at the Irish Sea just 50 yards away, and swung in unison to achieve a form of burial at sea.

Sadly, five of them missed the Irish Sea, but some thought that the crashing of the waves concealed a deep chuckle from their departed pal.

Some things never change. . .