All cricket clubs bear a forlorn and melancholy aspect during the winter. The nets are abandoned and neglected. The covers are shoved to one corner, often disarranged by rogue winds. The outfield is overgrown and unkempt. The pavilion is barred and bolted. Dog walkers stroll unconcerned across the square. Weeds are sprouting on the paths. Cricket has gone into hibernation only to awaken in the Spring.
The same could be said of a tennis club. Not any old tennis club but the club, the All-England Lawn Tennis and Croquet Club in Wimbledon. During the Championship Fortnight, the greatest tennis club in the world is at its immaculate best. The green and purple foliage and floral displays have timed their bloom to perfection. The grass courts are coiffed and preened with care and precision. The white lines are ramrod straight,and the nets look blacker, higher and more threatening than they do on any municipal court. The umpires, line judges and ballboys and girls look smart in their uniforms. The whole place, thronging with spectators and tennis fans, is abuzz with activity and excitement. The Pimms and strawberries look enticing (that is if you can afford them). Wimbledon has been building itself up for this moment for the previous 50 weeks.
The mot juste here is ‘building’. Once the last ball has been struck and the last trophy held aloft, in move the builders. The reason Wimbledon has stayed ahead of the game is that the powers-that-be are continually seeking ways to improve the club. There is always a new project in the offing and no expense is spared to maintain, even increase, that edge over their rivals. The fact of the matter is that the club makes so much money during the Fortnight (the TV rights are astronomical) that it has to spend, spend, spend. The latest plan afoot is the conversion of the former Wimbledon Golf Club, situated over the road from the site of the tennis club,into 38 grass courts and an 8,000-seat show court. This will enable the club to host the qualifying rounds on site, so to speak, in addition to other tournaments which currently cannot be held at home, owing to a shortage of courts and facilities. In order to soften the blow of losing their golf course, each member of the club received a hand-out of £80,000. Better than a hole in one. The trouble is that building work is at present suspended pending an appeal by local residents, objecting to increased vehicular traffic and disruption by heavy machinery. I sort of understand their worries, but the plan will surely go ahead, and I cannot believe that Wimbledon – the club that is, not the council – won’t provide spectacular – and tasteful – development. Their record to date has an enviable reputation.
My friend, Bruce, is a member at the All-England Club. His father, Air Chief Marshal Sir Brian Burnett GCB DFC ADC,was chairman of the club for ten years, so Bruce is well known among the corridors of the club house. I have been fortunate enough, along with my wife, to be invited as his guests on occasions during the Fortnight. The Centre Court experience is memorable and there is always a bit of celebrity-spotting on the club verandah between matches. Another privilege is to be invited to make up a foursome to play on one of the outside courts after the Fortnight. There is something special about playing on grass. Once you have accustomed yourself to the bounce and speed of the ball, it is a joy, not least because it is so kind on the feet. You can spend hours walking with the ghosts of the past in the members lounge and in the changing rooms. Everywhere you look are the memories of the historical greats, immortalised in gold lettering, trophies, photographs and even busts.
Yet for all that, the venerable old place looks tired and wilting, much like the flowers, after a fortnight’s junketing. The barriers are up, builders in hard hats and high-vis jackets scurry around, cranes swing lazily across the sky, the air is rent with the sound of machinery and the mounds of rubble pile up. All will look spick and span come next June; for the time being, it resembles a building site, for that is what it is, as the present façade is torn down to be replaced by anotherarchitect’s dream. You have to admire the busy activity and the club’s avowed intent not to stand still. Every year, I observe and wonder; what’s next in the pipeline for the famous club? At Lord’s, they seem to replace a stand every five years or so. At Wimbledon, something new is unveiled every year.
In our game, one workman seemed taken by my partner’s volleying. Other than him, we were playing in front of ivy and empty stands. You cannot help but ponder, between points, what it must be like to play in front of 15,000 spectators on Centre Court. I reckon we would still have won.
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