Vision-impaired 97-year-old bowling her way to a century

As we age, keeping our bodies moving and minds ticking are important. But when our eyesight fails, that involves extra challenges, writes Seven Sharp reporter Rachel Parkin.

A group of valiant volunteers in Christchurch is lighting the way for low-vision bowlers and even helping one nimble nonagenarian bowl her way to a century.

Her smile stretched wide, and her eyes twinkled as I touched her arm and chatted. Gwendoline Bremner couldn’t see me, but that didn’t matter. The 97-year-old radiated sunshine and was in her element.

“Oh, I love everything. The people are lovely… playing bowls is just great fun,” she said from her favourite spot on the padded bench. “Every week, I look forward to it.”

As other members filtered in, it became clear that the feeling was mutual. This wasn’t just bowls; it was a community.

“Oh, [the bowlers] are just gorgeous,” volunteer coach Martin Jefferson told me, grinning. “They really are, and they’re so positive. They’ve all got disabilities of varying amounts, and they’re all either partially sighted or totally blind, but they’re just lovely people.”

The first to arrive for set-up was Peter McGlinchey — totally blind but pushing the trolley and putting bowls out.

“I lost my sight in 1988 due to [a medical procedure], and it haemorrhaged... and yeah, lost my job and that,” McGlinchey said. “I get here early because it makes it easier on the helpers.”

Feeling his way along to the next mat, he readied the bowls for action.

“Everybody knows the black bowls are on the right and brown bowls on the left. It makes it easier for the ones who can’t see, and it’s standard throughout the country.”

Jillian Dellabosca soon tagged in.

“And how’s your weekend, Jillian?”

“Oh, pretty good,” she replied, adding, “I call them white [the left-side bowls].”

“Oh well, I won’t argue because I can’t see,” said McGlinchey with a chuckle.

That was where volunteers like Margaret Welbeloved (her actual name) came in — one of half a dozen-odd coaches lending a hand — or rather, their eyes.

“How long have you been helping, Margaret?” I asked.

“Twenty-five years.”

My next question: "Why do you do it?”

“Oh, I just love it. It’s something to do, and if they can’t have coaches, they can’t play because we are their eyes,” Welbeloved replied.

As you might have guessed, playing bowls when you're blind isn't easy.

So, to help, each coach held a white paddle where the bowler should try to aim.

“When the bowl goes down, it’ll curve into the jack,” explained Jefferson. “As guides, we have to judge what the green – as we call it – is going to be, which is the curvature.”

How the bowler holds the bowl in their hand (small circle on the inside versus the outside) determines the way it swings.

Then, as Bremner explained, coaching advice is about the distance to the white ball, or "jack".

“After that, they might say 16 feet, or 17 feet or 20 feet, and you've got to judge that — that's the hardest part, I think,” she said.

“That sounds incredibly hard,” I exclaimed.

“You know in your head how hard to push it if you hear 16 feet, I guess. Well, you think you do,” Bremner laughed.

Typically, Bremner did. I was in the company of blind bowls royalty.

“They tell me you’ve got some silverware?” I asked. “Oh yes, I’ve got silverware a couple of years.”

Bremner is, in fact, a six or seven-time national champ and shows no sign of slowing down.

“Shall I come back when you turn 100?” I suggested with a nudge.

“Ooh, that would be good, wouldn’t it!” she laughed.

Other members are still going strong, too. There's Wayne Johnson or “Spud”.

“What are we? 17 [feet], aren’t we?” he asked coach Carol before bowling an absolute beauty from his wheelchair.

“Awesome bowl!”

And there was Paul Cruickshank, blind in one eye and with 30% vision in the other since birth.

“How are you going today, Paul? Having a good game?” I asked.

“Yes, having a good game,” he replied. “Some of my shots have been okay, some not so good, but I'm trying, and I'm enjoying being with people and trying to play a good game of bowls.”

“That's all that matters, isn't it?” I said. “Yeah, that's all that matters, Rachel.”

As we wandered around, it was hard to tell who was having more fun – the bowlers or the coaches.

For Jefferson and wife Laurel, it's been a labour of love for more than a decade.

“We go away from here feeling really inspired,” Jefferson said. They all live for their bowls; they wouldn’t miss Wednesday for anything.”

All that's missing is some new blood.

“Yes, that's the thing; I’m getting a bit ancient, and so is Laurel, my wife,” said Jefferson. “A few of us here are either 80 or high 70s, and we do need younger people to give us a hand either guiding or coaching.

"There are an awful lot of bowlers who could probably help us, and we'd love to see them.”

And while the bowlers mightn’t see you, they sure will appreciate it. That's crystal clear.

As coach Scotty Stewart led a trio of bowlers in a “choo-choo train” from one end of the mat to the other, their happiness shone through.

“Alright?” came Stewart’s broad Glaswegian accent as they reached their destination.

“Great,” was the response.