The sun had been up for nearly an hour but the town centre of St Andrews was all but deserted at 5.30am yesterday morning, excepting the occasional cry from the seagulls perched on the four-stack chimneys above.

Only when you found your way towards City Road, the main artery flowing down to the Old Course, did you come across the sparse trickle of spectators trickling on to the grounds of St Andrews.

The British Open will conclude on Sunday amid the bluster of 50,000 spectators in full cry, but it got under way early yesterday morning before no more than 100 souls. For a few moments at least, the hallowed beachside links known as the birthplace of golf belonged to these select few: the intrepid and the curious, the sleepless and the devout.

For all the hand-wringing over the famously bipolar weather along the Fife coast, the Australian pro Rod Pampling emerged from the Royal & Ancient clubhouse just after 6am to ideal conditions: 12C and calm. The crisp wind and unpredictable sprinkles of rain that peppered the afternoon players were still hours away.

Cradling coffees

“Testing, one-two, one-two,” rang a soft voice across the public address system as the Queenslander worked by himself on the practice green adjacent to the first tee, calmly depositing one putt after another before a gaggle of onlookers, workers and tournament officials, many pecking at breakfast niblets while cradling coffees in blue Open-branded cups.

Before long Pampling was joined on the green by playing partners Greg Owen and Thomas Bjorn. The British Open’s live radio broadcast was more than an hour away from going on the air. Three seagulls casually floated about the grey vault above.

A small crowd gathered near the first tee as the 6.32am tee time drew nearer.

“Hello studio, now I’ve got you loud and clear,” whispered a BBC reporter posted up behind the practice green. Several dozen spectators dotted the grandstands behind the first tee and along the fairway, a few more on the road lined with hotels and shops along the 18th hole that remains open to the public throughout the tournament. By the weekend, they’ll line it six-deep and the golf will be a rumour for late-comers in the rear. At the moment, two dozen passers-by, a few with their dogs, have all the real estate in the world.

Then rang out the familiar reedy tenor of Ivor Robson, the tournament’s official starter who will retire this year after 41 British Opens.

It’s the first of 52 groups the silver-haired Robson would send off – 156 names in all – every 11 minutes from then until 4.15pm. He’s become a cult figure in the golf world, having never missed a championship or tee time since assuming the position in 1975 at Carnoustie.

A 1999 profile in Sports Illustrated revealed the methodical process, which includes a moratorium on liquids after 7pm the night before, that ensures he'll never require a bathroom break during his nine-hour watch.

“On the tee from Australia . . . Rod Pampling.”

Pampling drew a three-iron from his bag and stepped on to the tee after a half-dozen practice swings and one final conference with caddie Brendan Woolley. Camera phones were drawn, the clipboard-toting official scorer stood at the ready.

The Aussie smacked a ball into the grey morning, the ball thudding safely on to the generous first fairway, cueing polite applause from the gallery.

As Pampling and Bjorn finished with safe pars and Owen canned a birdie putt, the second pairing – the Irish amateur Paul Dunne and American pros Todd Hamilton and James Hahn – moved from the practice green into position to open their rounds.

By then several more fans were trickling in through the entry gate opposite the West Sands beach, where they immediately ran into the team of six young men nimbly updating the hand-operated scoreboard to reflect the early returns.

The queues would grow, the crowds would swell, a champion would emerge at the expense of 155 rivals.

Yet amid the tournament’s loneliest hour, anything was possible.

The 144th Open Championship was under way. Guardian Service