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The acclaimed golf writer Herbert Warren Wind reported in the New Yorker: “Dr David Marsh, a general practitioner of great personal charm, earned himself a small chunk of immortality when he hit the shot [in 1971] that won the Walker Cup for Britain—a picture-postcard 3-iron to the 17th green that covered the flag every yard of the way.”
Two putts gave the modest Marsh a winning par four. He clinched the match on the 18th, giving Great Britain and Ireland a 13-11 victory and only their second Walker Cup win since the inaugural championship in 1922.
Wind’s commentary stands out because it is rare for a sportswriter describing the thrilling climax of a sporting triumph to focus on an athlete’s charm. But this was perhaps appropriate. As a doctor, Marsh was (to quote Michael Balint, a student of the dynamics of doctor-patient relationships) “a therapeutic instrument in his own right.” His unwavering charm was part of what made him so, as were his striking good looks, empathetic nature, and exceptional memory of generations of patients. Colleagues said that he even remembered things that patients themselves had forgotten.
His longstanding partner and friend Ian King said, “He would smile his way through surgery. He was the most remarkable man I’ve ever known. Patients were in awe of him. He retired 25 years ago and yet about 300 of our patients completed memory cards after his death. The recurring themes were what a wonderful gentleman he was—his kindness and consideration.”
His second wife, Katie (previously Pattinson), recalls how he found two men beginning to strip his car. They said, “Oh, it’s you, doc. We’ll put it back together again.”
But pity any golfing opponent seduced into...