Royals, retro wigs and Pimm’s – my first trip to SW19
Kate Rowan realises a childhood dream and finds the experience is an assault on the senses
Awoman tottering in vertiginous, silver heels sporting a canary yellow fascinator is ushered into a queue for Centre Court by a dapper steward, a member of the Royal Logistics Corps. For a brief moment, this impeccably dressed lady evokes fresh memories of May’s royal wedding. However, the illusion is shattered once one realises that the Pimm’s she is clutching is in a plastic cup. Suddenly, she is joined by a rowdy pair wearing rather different headgear: wigs mimicking the retro hairstyles of Bjorn Borg and John Mcenroe.
Before long, the group is supplemented by a group clad in Mexico football shirts supporting their team against Brazil, a woman with a pink Mohawk and then the men in Panama hats – so many Panama hats.
The eclectic and eccentric array of fashions on display among the fans visiting on the first day of the Championships may be no surprise for grizzled veterans of the All England Club, but for a first-timer like myself, it can all be a little overwhelming.
Going to Wimbledon is never less than a privilege; going for the first time, however, is something very special. Growing up in Dublin, my first aspirations towards a career in sports journalism were sown while watching Wimbledon with my grandmother, Marie. I declared as a six-year-old: “I want to be Sue Barker when I grow up.” It was not because of her French Open title; rather, it was for effortless hosting of BBC’S Wimbledon coverage.
My older cousins used to make fun of me because I had been thrown out of mini-tennis lessons by the coach for a chronic lack of ability. But, even then, I had a vague notion that England’s grand slam was about a lot more than the tennis.
It has taken a while to get there. In fact, the closest I had got to Wimbledon before yesterday was a pair of socks dotted with strawberries from the gift shop, sent by a kindly cousin just as the reign of Roger Federer was beginning. I saved them every year just for watching Wimbledon from the sofa.
Sports journalism is a job that can often bring out the cynic as you are offered a glimpse behind the curtain, and slowly the fan in me has faded. But there are days when your professional and critical eye can relax a little, and roaming the grounds of one of the most prestigious pieces of sporting real estate in the world is one of them.
My first peek at Centre Court’s ivy-clad exterior stirred something in my gut, bringing back the same giddy excitement I used to have watching on television as a child, and I could not quite make it to lunchtime before buying the obligatory strawberries and cream. Wimbledon has the look and feel of a five-star resort. When one considers those who usually frequent the All England Club, the sense of glamour should not be that much of a shock.
Yet, Wimbledon keeps on the right side of classy, and the crowds are also lovably diverse. To get in the spirit, I took a fan bus from central London and most of the other travellers were excitable pensioners. Then there were the teens in Converse trainers told in polite tones by the stewards “to please slow down”. It was also refreshing to attend a sporting event where male and female fans seem to be in equal numbers.
The pensioners on the fan bus had been wondering whether they would catch sight of the All England Club patron, the Duchess of Cambridge. But yesterday it was the Duke of Kent presiding over the Royal Box. Among those invited was the actor Matthew Goode, recently heralded for playing the late Lord Snowdon in the Netflix drama, The Crown.
Perhaps the fact that an actor who played a royal in not the most flattering light can be welcomed so warmly on their turf best encapsulates Wimbledon’s eccentric and quirky spirit. I will definitely be back.