A Handful of Summers Read online

  And, if they still have problems actually playing, it isn’t important, because they have the tennis-talk and trappings, and afterwards they can put on ‘après-tennis’ gear, and do fun ‘après-tennis’ things! But wait!

  Borg is starting to win, with his long, controlled strokes. Marvellously detached. Inscrutable. Patient. There is a balance in his perspective. A calm recognition of the occasion. And he holds the ball on his racket, longer than Connors does, and his topspins pull the ball down and into court.

  ‘This Borg,’ Abie is going to say to me after the match, ‘is one hell of an athlete. And what’s more, on court he doesn’t come up with any of the usual bullshit.’

  All the able-bodied stars of former years have been invited to the centenary doubles event. Look: Pancho Gonzales, Pancho Segura, Torben Ulrich, Sven Davidson, Donald Budge, Gene Mako, Victor Seixas, Rex Hartwig, Frank Sedgman, Bob Howe, Gardner Mulloy, Bobby Riggs, Budge Patty, Jackie Brichant, Jaroslav Drobny. Even Jean Borotra. And, of course, the commoners, Williams and Segal!

  The 1950s revisited, albeit with creaking knees! The event begins only during the second week, so that the first week is given to practice and preparation – a fair amount of knee guards, ointments, plasters and embrocations, and a determined if temporary abstinence from such things as whisky and cigars. Generally, though, they’re a fit-looking lot, these over forty-fives, with a great deal of youth and vigour still intact.

  They are all taking it as seriously as the devil, because apart from the prestige attached, there are faces to be saved and three or four thousand pounds to be won. The matches get underway at last, with nervousness being concealed by ribald observations and tactical probes.

  Abie, now forty-six-ish, is sceptical about Owen’s ability to stay the pace.

  ‘I’ve ordered him a coffin next to the umpire’s stand,’ he says brutally, ‘so that if he caves in we can just nail him up an’ continue the match.’ Their first match is against Gonzales and Segura, before several thousand nostalgic spectators. Warren Woodcock and I go along to watch.

  Abie’s service and forehand are still heavy-calibre. Owen, nervous at first, eventually gets under way, and they win the match. The Panchos are ‘confounded’!

  But Gonzales comes up with the best aside. A Segal forehand flies down the middle of the court, leaving both him and Segura standing.

  ‘Your ball, keed!’ says Pancho Segura.

  ‘I tell you what we do, Sneaky,’ says Pancho Gonzales. ‘You watch the ball and I hit it, OK?’

  There are dozens of these. The crowd is delighted. Ulrich and Davidson win the event, edging past Seixas and Hartwig. Abe and Owen are placed a gallant fourth.

  Torben is unbelievably fit. At one of the evening get-togethers, over wine, I question him about his training methods.

  ‘Do you know, Gordon,’ he says, all gentleness and enthusiasm, ‘you need never become out of condition. It is a pity, you see; a pity to become weak and unfit.’

  He goes on to tell me of the study which he has made about his fitness, and of the system which he has devised to retain it.

  ‘At twenty-one, you know,’ he says, ‘you need to train for perhaps three hours each day. At thirty-one, you will need perhaps four hours; at thirty-seven you need five, and at forty-five, you might need as many as six or seven. The older you get, the more hours of training you need. But you will remain as fit as you were at twenty-one, if you simply increase your training schedule as you get older.’

  Being a bit of a sceptic in these matters, I immediately project his theory into my own future, and am confronted with the alarming vision of myself at seventy-five, having to do about sixteen hours a day.

  ‘But surely, Torben,’ I say, ‘eventually you start to slow up, no matter what you do?’

  ‘Well, of course, eventually,’ he says, with very serious eyes, ‘you do become completely immobile. Because, you see, you die! But, until then, there is no real excuse for becoming out of condition!’

  ‘After all, Gordon,’ he says suddenly after one of his silences, ‘what really is tennis?’ And, when I don’t reply, he says, ‘Only a game, you see. That is all that it really is. Only a game.’

  7 Fila – The super-elegant Italian tennis wear which, in order to purchase, you have to be accompanied by your bank manager.

  My son, Gavin, and a friend peering over the spot from which Joseph had been lowered

  Jeannie aged about 10

  Jeannie aged 13, winning Western Province Open Tournament

  Jean and Jack at Dunkeld – ‘I told Abie that we had a bit of a band …’

  Abie long ago with Ian Vermaak – one of the ‘untouchables’ on the tennis circuit

  A very young Owen Williams – ‘The white apparel of a tennis international – the footwear of a potato chef!’

  Two Gordons on Regent Street, 1954 – ‘How absolutely wide-eyed we were!’

  1954: GF persevering in the race against J-J

  1954: Hugh Stewart’s British frown – ‘Buck up now, fellows …’

  Heather, blue-eyed and tawny-skinned

  The faces (and service) of Abie

  Oslo 1955: Russell Seymour, Ian Vermaak, Manager and GF. Things became generally below zero . . .

  Torben Ulrich on clarinet – ‘even at that time there was sufficient mystery about him to give us each a set of jitters’

  Jaroslav Drobny: the most beautiful forehand in the world

  GF with the dreaded Italian Pietrangeli

  The extraordinary forehand of Guiseppe Merlo – ‘You-drive-a me crazy’ said his coach

  Nicki, Orlando, Emmo, Rocket and unidentified trophy

  Jeannie and GF in deep discussion at Roland Garros

  Mervyn Rose and Dolly Seixas

  The crew-cuts of Seixas and Trabert

  Abie, Neale Frazer and Ken Rosewall

  Ham Richardson – two matchpoints for me (match to him)

  Don Candy – ‘I can’t be losing in the first round! I haven’t even arrived yet!’

  Torben Ulrich and Orlando Sirola expecting rain

  Abe and Heather – ‘The only man in the world who wanted his feet massaged on their wedding night’

  Lew Hoad, Art Larsen (with cameras) and Sven Davidson

  Karol Fageros – a stunning girl . . . even in what seems to be an inflatable dress

  Sandra Reynolds

  ‘The legs of lady tennis players’ – Lea Pericoli and Maria Bueno, jumping for Teddy Tinling

  The grace (and legs) of Virgina Wade

  Jean’s win – Darlene Hard

  The match board at Wimbledon

  Jean’s loss – Louise Brough

  With Drobny before victory at Surbiton, 1956

  With Lew before victory at Bristol, 1956

  The superb grace and talents of Lew

  The superb grace and talents of Maria

  Lea Pericoli and Pietrangeli – the heady days of Tassels, Tinling and Hurlingham

  Putting at Hurlingham; Hugh and Lew

  Ilsa Buding, Luis Ayala, Edda Buding

  Cliffie – ‘all young … and paying no attention to Abie’s raving about “showin’ a bit of class”’

  Budge Patty – ‘A very illustrious referee’

  Eric Clifford Drysdale after being got into shape by Forbes and Segal

  Julie Heldman, John Newcombe, Gladys Heldman – ‘A ruthless cutter-outer was Gladys – but the founder of style in tennis publications’

  Kenny Rosewall – ‘All tennis matches are lonely’

  Gerard Pilet, Claude Lister, GF, before final Davis Cup Match, Paris 1962

  Rodney George at Wimbledon – one of the greatest champions

  Cliff Drysdale and GF defeating Rod Laver and Fred Stolle in the U.S National Doubles

  Abie at Wimbledon, 1
977 – his 25th

  Ray Moore ‘before’

  Ray Moore ‘after’

  A superbly modern gentlemen’s singles champion – Björn Borg

  Wimbledon 1977 – Frances Forbes, Abie and a debonair Woody Woodcock

  Wimbledon 1977 – Veterans Gardner Mulloy, Bobby Riggs, Owen Williams and Abe Segal