The Joys of Spring

Television viewers remember the banks of colour, so carefully nurtured to be in full bloom at just the right time. But my overwhelming impression was of "green and white". Green in its many shades interrupted by the white of the beautiful old colonial-style clubhouse and the timber cabins where members can stay and, of course, the Butler Cabin where the new champion takes delivery of his green jacket.

On arrival, we made dignified haste for the clubhouse. (Running is not allowed at Augusta National. Miscreants are liable to have their accreditation removed!) Every year the same staff were on hand in the wonderfully modest, yet stylish and classy structure that serves as the 19th hole. It was an enormous privilege that we were allowed to roam free, to guzzle our eggs Benedict on the verandah looking out over the first tee and to exchange the odd quip with greats of the game sharing our space: Bob Goalby, Billy Capser, Byron Nelson, Sam Snead – they’d all come wondering by. Rookies like me would stand gawking at the top of the stairs watching and waiting for the door of the Champions Locker Room to open and for Jack Nicklaus to appear, or Arnold Palmer or Tom Watson or Ray Floyd. That was one room we couldn't enter. You need a green jacket to get in there, and not just one belonging to a member.

The social epicentre of Augusta National is "The Big Oak Tree" just outside the clubhouse. Planted in the 1850s it now needs wires to support its heavy, sprawling tentacles. This is the place where business is done and rumours exchanged, where old friends meet for their annual reunion, where new friends are made and where the media hang out eager for every grain of gossip, hoping to intercept the players en route to the first tee or more likely returning from the 18th. The players are either happy to chat after a brilliant 65, or striding with the purposeful look of a man whose next stop is the practice ground, and any hack foolish enough to attempt an interception can expect a curt response. It was here that I spent many a long hour. Interviews are a fairly crucial part of radio sports coverage. The golden nuggets then had to be hastened, discreetly, back to the media centre two hundred yards away.

Everyone on the staff at Augusta oozes that drawling Southern charm that makes you feel so welcome, but you soon realise there's a subcutaneous band of steel that quickly comes to the surface if you breech their very strict code of conduct. A few years ago BBC Radio's golf correspondent, Iain Carter, offended by running (or was it using his mobile phone, or perhaps talking too loudly, I forget) and had his accreditation removed and was banned from the premises for the rest of the day.

One of my happiest memories was interviewing Arnold Palmer after he'd received yet another honour. Everyone wanted a slice of him, but he gave of his time willingly and freely in the most charming and courteous manner possible. A true gentleman and one of the unambiguous sporting greats. Cast around now for today's equivalent …