Though the first US Masters, played in late March 1934, was an artistic success, the financial results were close to disastrous. Indeed the balance sheet was so unbalanced that the chairman, Clifford Roberts, found it necessary to pass the hat among the Augusta National members for the prize fund of $5,000. It is interesting to consider such matters in the wake of the recent Players' Championship at Sawgrass, where an elite field were competing for $6 million. Clearly, money would be no problem if the Players' were to become an official, fifth "major". So why not?

There is no official record as to when any of the majors became so recognised. But it is widely acknowledged that the Masters acquired its current importance after being televised for the first time in 1956. That was 22 years after Roberts had suggested the "Masters Tournament" as a fitting title, only to have it rejected by the modest Bobby Jones as being too presumptuous.

But fate took a hand. When it became known that certain of the club's members were disappointed by Jones's decision, the story was run in a local newspaper. And journalists responded by referring to it in 1935 as the Masters, even though the club continued to call it the Augusta National Invitation for a further three years.

Then came television. When scenes from the stunning course were beamed into American homes for the first time, viewers marvelled at its beauty and the special place which Jones's tournament had carved for itself in the history of the game. Almost imperceptibly, the public had decided that the Masters was a "major".

So it was that the British Amateur and the US Amateur were eventually replaced as majors by the USPGA and the Masters. And, crucially, the mathematics remained unchanged. The Impregnable Quadrilateral which Jones had captured in 1930 could still be recognised in the context of the four majors.

When asked to define the difference between the Players' and the British Open, Sandy Lyle, the 1987 winner at Sawgrass, replied: "About 120 years." Others have argued that it has to do with the tradition and quality of the venue. But this hardly holds up in the context of the USPGA, which will be played next August at the relatively recent creation of Valhalla.

In truth, the Masters became a major largely because of the involvement of Jones. And nobody was more aware of this than the master strategist, Roberts. Cleverly arguing that the great man couldn't invite his friends to play without playing himself, he prevailed upon Jones to compete in the early stagings.

When Jones agreed, there was the problem of how he should be described in the programme, given the doubts about his amateur status arising from instructional films he had made. Again, the resourceful Roberts had the solution. After Jones's name were the words "President Augusta National Golf Club."

That's the sort of ingenuity it takes to create a major.

"Golf is a game of considerable passion, either of the explosive type, or that which burns inwardly and sears the soul."

- Bobby Jones.

When the sportswriter, Thomas Boswell, described Augusta National as the "Cathedral in the Pines", he could hardly have imagined one of the caddies pursuing a religious career. But that is what happened to Liz Archer, who in 1983 had been the first woman to caddie in the US Masters.

As an 18-year-old, she did it for her father, George, when players were allowed to use their own caddies for the first time. Now, 17 years on and having graduated with a degree in theology from Stanford University, Rev Dr Elizabeth Archer Klein is with the First Presbyterian Church of Santa Cruz, California.

Archer's wife, Donna, caddied for him on another occasion, when he won a tournament in Hawaii, but contrary to the standard practice, she didn't get 10 per cent of the cheque. The player explained: "It wasn't a PGA Tour event and the guy who ran the tournament said he was broke. So we didn't get a dime."

But Archer was paid, naturally, when Liz helped her father to a share of 12th place and $10,125 in 1983. Meanwhile, she is proud of having been something of a trailblazer at Augusta National. "I've continued being first as a minister," she said. "This is the third church I've served in and I've been the first woman in the job in each instance."

It had been 10 years since his last visit and Dave McNeilly could hardly wait to return to Augusta National as caddie to Padraig Harrington. "I've got some wonderful memories of the Masters, particularly from 1986," he said. In fact he caddied at Augusta every year from 1983 to 1990.

During three years with Nick Faldo, he was in the same pairing as the eventual winner, Ben Crenshaw, for the final round in 1984. "I can still remember the roar when Crenshaw holed a real bomb on the 10th," he recalled. By 1986, he was with Nick Price, who looked like missing the cut after an opening 79 and went on to shoot a course-record 63 in the third round.

"We were in the final group, this time with Greg Norman, and I can remember there were no spectators on the left of the 15th fairway," he said. "Everybody was on the other side trying to get a glimpse of Nicklaus playing the 17th. If the roar for Crenshaw was big in `84, this one was unbelievable. And it remains as real to me now as it was all those years ago."

"How are yeh, you ole bog-trotter." This was David Feherty's greeting on entering the Masters media centre. And by way of reply, I couldn't resist relating an experience I had at Murrayfield nearly 30 years ago. Though it refers to rugby, it's still worth the telling here. It concerned an occasion when Mike Gibson, at his supreme best, was giving the poor Scots terrible grief.

Eventually, a distracted local could stand it no longer. "Away home wi' ye Gibson, ya papish bog-trotter," he screamed, clearly unaware that one would be unlikely to find the player's first names of Cameron Michael Henderson on a birth certificate on the Falls Road. Feherty laughed heartily.

With the first "major" of the season at only the halfway stage, it may seem rather early to be looking towards the second. But there is disturbing news about the famous par-five 18th at Pebble Beach, where angry Pacific breakers are often seen crashing over the sea wall. The two strategic pines, which stand sentinel at driving distance on the right edge of the fairway, are doomed.

One is already dead from the fungal disease, pitch canker, and the other, which has also succumbed, will be removed before the US Open returns there in June. The disease has also destroyed groups of pines on the second and to the right of the 13th fairway.

Though Pebble Beach has commanded most attention, other courses in the area are also affected by a disease for which there is no known cure. But all is not lost. "We've cut the tips from the more resistant trees and are now cloning them," said course official Ted Horton. "Once established, they can grow upwards of six feet a year."

He added: "We must remember that the Monterey pine has a normal life-span of about 80 to 100 years and all the pines here are basically the same age, about 80 years old. So they were probably going to die anyway. We just have to make the transition happen a little bit faster."

This day in golf history . . . On April 8th, 1951, Ben Hogan played a final round which was described as a classic in strategy and execution to capture his first US Masters title. Coming from one stroke behind after 54 holes, he shot a closing 68 to win by two strokes from Skee Riegel.

Teaser: A player's ball is eight feet off the ground, lodged in a tree. The player declares the ball unplayable. May the player proceed under option "b" of Rule 28 which permits him to drop a ball within two club-lengths of where his ball lay unplayable?

Answer: Yes. The player would be entitled to drop a ball within two club-lengths of the point on the ground immediately below the place where the ball lay in the tree. In some instances, this may allow the player to drop a ball on a putting green.