We are all familiar with the caustic comments sometimes directed by disgruntled golf club members at beleaguered greenkeepers, when balls stubbornly refuse to follow the desired path to the hole. But what about the other side of the coin? What do greenkeepers think about the members who are, effectively, their employers?

I found some interesting answers to these questions during the British Open at Royal Birkdale recently. As it happened, the guests at my hotel included a group attached to the British and International Golf Greenkeepers Association (BIGGA).

Incidentally, the Scots among them noted the dramatic strides being made by their Irish counterparts in recent years. They further acknowledged that standards had improved to such a degree in this country that there would soon be an end to the one-way traffic of Scottish greenkeepers to these shores. In the event, the practitioners that I met were accompanied by Scott McCallum, editor of their official magazine, Greenkeeper International.

McCallum made some fascinating points regarding the soccer World Cup, points that weren't considered to be worth even a throwaway remark by the various pundits. Every evening, the main focus of attention seemed to be on the standard of the refereeing and the absence of any real scoring power in the French team.

Nobody thought of mentioning the playing surfaces, which could have produced some decidedly quirky bounces of the ball. What if the French pitches had not been up to standard? "Managers, players, television experts and prime ministers would, no doubt, have lined up to give the benefit of their agronomic experience," claimed McCallum. And he's probably right.

The soft-spoken Scot went on: "You can equate the job of groundsman and greenkeeper with that of the soccer goalkeeper. The last line of defence can produce miracles, mopping up the mistakes of others and keeping a clean sheet. But as soon as he makes one mistake and the ball ends up in the net, all the good that has gone before is forgotten.

"You don't know it before you start, but one of the prerequisites of the job of greenkeeper, groundsman or goalkeeper, is to have no desire to be credited for all the great work you might do. The other is to have a skin thick enough to cope with the flak when it occasionally goes wrong."

As Royal Birkdale's head greenkeeper Chris Whittle said before the greatest examination of his work: "I will just be happy to have a quiet Open where all the headlines are made by golf rather than the golf course. If no one makes a comment about Birkdale all week, then that'll be fine by me."

Greenkeeping is indeed a thankless task. Its exponents are open to all sorts of abuse from club captains whose only interest in the greens is to have them right for one day of the year - their prize. "You tell me the weather has been unkind, but how is it that my lawn at home is perfect?" the captain will remonstrate.

When faced with that familiar thesis, I have known one greenkeeper to reply: "I'm sure your lawn is perfect. But I wonder how it would be if you had more than a hundred pairs of spiked shoes tramping over it from morning to night, seven days a week."

Greenkeepers, however, are not supposed to make those sort of responses. They are expected to quietly accept the most moronic remarks from supposedly intelligent members, without a murmur. Some of these comments are included in a fascinating article on the subject in the current copy of Greenkeeper International.

Implicit in golf club membership, we are informed, is a supposed, comprehensive knowledge of all matters relating to course management. This would appear to entitle them to point out inherent shortcomings to the greens, without fear of argument. It also confers on them the right to trot out ancient gags to which the staff are expected to respond.

When an errant golf ball finishes in the rough where one of the staff may be at work, he is asked to "kick it back on the fairway." Haw haw. Or when seed or fertiliser is being applied by hand, there is the infantile inquiry: "Feeding the chickens, eh?"

As one greenkeeper observed: "In the line of duty, we all manage to raise a smile and even a slight snigger if pushed to do so. But I often thought of falling about helplessly in uncontrolled, hysterical guffawing by way of response to these remarks." The greenkeeper is astute enough to know, however, that a golfer's sense of humour can become notoriously unpredictable if the little white pill is not behaving itself.

In this context I must admit to a certain testiness in such circumstances. Indeed even you, dear reader, may have succumbed to the odd outburst of intolerance when a greenkeeper happened to be mowing the adjoining fairway while you were slashing about in impenetrable rough, silently raging.

My thoughts would go somewhat like: "Why can't that whore get up at a decent hour of the day and have this stuff done before we members go out to play? And with those hearing protectors he's not even aware of all the damned noise he's making."

But we should be careful. Some greenkeepers are fighting back. The splendidly-named Sandy McDivot - could that possibly be a pseudonym? - recounted some fascinating tales of members getting their comeuppence.

Like the time the members of a certain club threw their hands up in horror at the effects of the annual hollow-tine. "What are you doing to our greens?," they wailed at the greens staff. "We're killing worms," came the reply. "What do you mean killing worms," inquired one of the members. Whereupon he got considerably more than he could have bargained for.

"Well," said a greenkeeper, "we make all these holes in the greens and then bang on them with a shovel. Then, when the worms poke their little heads out of the holes to see what's going on, we shoot the buggers."

McDivot also takes the view that in these circumstances, it is perfectly legitimate to bait, or deliberately irritate intrusive members. As an example, he cited the familiar situation where, on seeing a greenkeeper employing a spade, the moronic member inquires: "Are you building a bunker?"

There could be a situation in which greenkeepers would, in fact, be building a bunker. But the more interesting reply is: "No, we're building a nuclear fall-out shelter for the committee." "What! A nuclear fall-out shelter for the committee?" "Yes. It's all been officially approved."

It seems that on being so informed, a certain member at a certain club swallowed the story hook, line and sinker. But as McDivot remarked: "Personally, the thought of sharing a hole for several months with the golf club committee would make slow death by radiation poisoning seem positively inviting. But obviously, this member had other ideas."

Arguably the most testing members for the greenkeeping staff are greens officers, who are likely to suffer from that most dangerous of all commodities - a little knowledge. Having said that, it must be acknowledged that there are some extremely effective greens officers who, sadly, are saddled with the sins of their brethern.

One such man happens to be a friend of mine. He became a victim, not of the greenkeeping staff at his club but of his fellow, smart-assed members who called him "The Drain Brain" because of his enthusiasm for that particular aspect of course maintenance. And on proclaiming a similar interest in trees, he was promptly named "Johnny Appleseed."

The safe option, of course, would be to have nothing to do with maintenance, from either side of the fence, but then if everybody took this view, our courses would be in a helluva mess. So, perhaps we members should call a truce with the greenkeeping staff and promise not to give them grief if they, in turn, keep their observations to themselves.

And don't think that greenkeepers, who may play the game to an admirably low handicap, are above muttering disparaging comments under their breath at our painful attempts at getting the ball in the hole. Indeed we are informed that they very frequently engage in such slander, often at the risk of losing their job.

Peaceful coexistence is the answer. I, for one, would certainly go along with that - if only our man wouldn't insist on placing the pin so close to that infernal bunker at the fifth hole.