LTA volunteer referees were reacquainted with old comrades on line duties. The permanent staff seemed unfazed by all the peripheral changes, after a decade under the reign of Jim Thorn – Head Groundsman. They had the Thorn methods drilled into them, routines that could account for almost any eventuality, apart from a direct nuclear airstrike I imagine.
For them the procession of incomers would be similar to watching the circus arriving into town. But in 1990 a sad tinge was palatable for all concerned, it was to be Jim’s last year at the helm before retirement and we all knew this. Eddie Seaward the incoming designate, had arrived in the spring, on the same day I had caught the train down from my Lancashire college to arrive at the Church Lane entrance. We were the newbies together and so all the hullabaloo surrounding the event was new and exciting. Probably the realisation that was a not just going to be a church fete, but a worldwide media show was when the BBC crew arrived with van after van load of cabling. All the TV cameras of this era where still direct fed by wire to the BBC studio suite at the Aorangi Park practice facilities, within the estate. Extra staff were also drafted in to assist the grounds crew for the event, a handful of chosen grounds and greenkeepers from local clubs who had past the All England test. Not fazed by the oncoming storm of player and public which were to invade sleepy SW19.
Everyone knew their roles without missing a heartbeat. During the tournament, there were two basic duties for morning set up, a team of court mowers, and a team of line markers who followed up the forma once the grass had been cut to 7mm. A small team also ensured paths and lawns were blown or swept clean and everything was ship shape. Jim, with his trademark cloth cap, sports jacket and roll-up cigarette protruding from the corner of his mouth, would oversee every operation, a remarkably agile man for one reaching retirement age. A whimsical smile played up on his face most of the time, as though he waiting to tell a joke, then allowing the moment slide. He never got angry at any of the crew, but a stare was more than enough if he was displeased at a member of the team who failed to meet his standards. In tandem Eddie Seaward followed, in a smart broad pinstripe suit, probably feeling rather hot under collar in the sultry June heat of 1990, it was a humid month as I recall. The pressure was amplified by the growing knowledge that the eyes of the tennis world would soon be focusing on him alone. I was given the role as aid de camp, for the tournament weeks, which meant I was the runner between all the other departments, from referees office, the Club Secretary and any other section of the All England’ which needed to be relied upon at an instance. The role came with an all access pass card to all points of the estate except the royal box and I was able to roam every corridor and knew the short cut from point to point to avoid the crowds during play days.
From daybreak the set up was frantic until the gates opened for public access. Once play commenced, all of the grounds crew were on rain watch and the team knew to muster to either Centre Court, or next door to No1 Court which was at that time, firmly attached to the side of the Centre arena like an oversized lean-to.
