Court

We're approximately halfway through Wimbledon fortnight, so given the week's theme is  court , I thought I'd lob you another tennis-related blog. Are we all set? (Oh, this one's got zebras in it too.)

That modern tennis should be played on a court probably has less to do with the fact that it was once the sport of kings at their royal courts (Louis X of France, Henry VIII of England and many others) and more to do with its true origins as a game devised by French monks in the 12th century and played in the courtyards of their monasteries, square or rectangular open spaces with cloisters all around and a rope or net strung across the middle.

It wasn't actually called tennis back then either, but 'Jeu de Paume' (game of the palm), for the ball in those days was struck with the flat of the hand. Rackets weren't introduced until a couple of centuries later, possibly first in the palaces of Moorish Spain, for the word is believed to derive from the Arabic 'rakhat' (which also means, coincidentally, palm of the hand). As for the word tennis, that is almost certainly of French derivation, because 'Tenez' (in the sense of hold, take or receive) is what the player about to serve would traditionally call to his/her opponent at start of play. 

And when it comes to that rather strange system of scoring (love, fifteen, thirty, forty et cetera), that also dates from medieval France and my favourite theory is that wooden clocks were used to keep score, which progressed in quarter-hours - for there is evidence that love was 'l'heure' (as in top of the hour or zero minutes), 'quinze' and 'trente' (fifteen and thirty) are obvious enough as anyone who has watched the French Open can attest, and back in the day next would have come 'quarante-cinq' (forty-five, not forty): "we are winning 30, we are winning 45" (translated from Latin, 1522). 'Deuce' is interesting. Its derivation is straightforward enough, 'a deux du jeu' (two away from a game),though it is unclear why at deuce (45-45 originally, now 40-40) a player needed to win by two clear points and not just one (in a progression from 0-15-30-45-60).

Are you still with me? The modern game of Lawn Tennis, so named shortly after the invention of the lawn-mower allowed for the preparation of a uniform, close-cropped grass playing surface, was devised in the UK in the middle of the 19th century and the world's first tennis club was founded at Leamington Spa in 1874. A year later the Marylebone Cricket Club encoded Major Wingfield's 'Rules of Lawn Tennis ' as the popularity of the sport began to outpace both badminton and croquet. Those rules have remained largely unchanged (apart from the introduction of tie-breaks) for nearly a hundred and fifty years and the world's oldest and most prestigious lawn tennis championship, known affectionately as Wimbledon, has been contested each summer since 1877 apart from brief lapses during the two world wars, making this year's the 136th Championship. It was still an amateur game with no prize money until 1968, when professional players were permitted for the first time. This year the total prize money is a staggering £44 million!

Yes, but what about the zebras? you ask. Very well. 5,000 miles away from the plush and manicured splendour of Wimbledon's eighteen championship grass courts, plus its twenty grass practice courts and eight clay courts, you will find in the middle of Tanzania's Serengeti national park what I consider to be the most unusual tennis court in the world (see below), located at Singita's luxury tented holiday camp in Sabora.

Sabora, Tanzania (i)

Singita is a South African company founded in 1925 which owns and runs game lodges in the south-east of the continent (Rwanda, South Africa, Tanzania, Zimbabwe) for holiday-makers looking for something out of the ordinary. Singita in the Tsonga language means 'place of miracles'. 

It's not really my intention to publicise Singita's Sabora holiday offering, though they claim to be conservation conscious and environmentally friendly. I've not been there and never shall, though I think it would be pretty amazing to play a game of tennis on Sabora's clay court watched over by an audience of zebras and wildebeest. What a juxtaposition. Naturally there would be mint tea, iced lemonade or something stronger available between sweaty sets - and the camp boasts a swimming-pool and a spa for freshening up afterwards. 

Of course there would be little chance of rain stopping play. The occasional stampede might be more of  a concern, or a playful leopard nipping in to chase a tennis ball, or some unfazed zebra needing to borrow one of the net-posts to scratch that irritating itch under his stripey chin, bless him.

Sabora, Tanzania (ii)

Back to Blighty and Wimbledon fortnight, and it seems only right that I should serve up a tennis poem today. I've been tinkering with putting this memory into words for several years, so figured it was high time to close it out. I'm not convinced it's a winner, so it will be interesting to see what kind of reaction it gets. 

You needn't think of it as any sort of response to John Betjeman's 'A Subaltern's Love Song ' (which graced another tennis-related blog this week). Unlike JB's, mine is rooted firmly in actuality, not fantasy, and unlike JB I have been scrupulous in avoiding naming Miss Wendy Jones at all in my poem (let alone nine times, ffs). J 

Double-Faulted

I remember a red clay court in the rain

one lost Wednesday summer afternoon

water spattering on sticky sycamores 

flicking off the sagging net each time

one of us faulted. Mostly you I recall.

Jesus Green Tennis Club evokes forever 

a memory of my thwarted teenage lust 

linked to a smell of wet dust and shame.

You were out of sorts not on your game

but too embarrassed to try telling why

and because it had been your suggestion

we play as opposed to taking advantage

of your parents being away I blundered on 

till you spat out I'm not at home to visitors.

At that I vaulted the net to offer a hug

but caught a toe as I leapt and sprawled

in the dirt at your feet. You didn't laugh

you cried. Only later as we sat on a bench

sharing a ciggy in thin June drizzle did you

explain about pads and belts and pain.

I'll leave you with one more photograph of the Sabora tennis court, replete with wildebeest and zebras.

Sabora, Tanzania (iii)

Thanks for reading, S ;-)