Fans here know they only get so many chances at these sunny afternoons. These side courts are, sadly, perhaps the most underused of any at the Grand Slams. Singles matches are played on them for just two days; by this morning it was virtually all doubles out there. Yet when you’re wandering inside those courts, up their narrow lanes and down their back alleys, you can feel as if you’re at tennis’s origin point, it’s quiet Mecca.
You can also feel as if you’ve stumbled into a tennis tournament from a century ago. Before the All England Club embarked on its steady project of reconstruction in the 1990s, this is what more of the club looked like. Today, surrounded on three sides by the raised walls of Centre Court, Court 2, and Court 3, this older, simpler area of the grounds can feel like it's holding a county tennis round-robin rather than a $40 million Grand Slam.
The players all wear white, of course. Out here, this has the effect of setting them off from the rest of us, while at the same time making them less noticeable as individuals—they’re tennis players, that’s it. The setting is also strictly amateur era: There’s no video screen here, no music, no food vendors, no Hawk-Eye, no upper (or lower) deck, little signage, and no retractable roof.
If anything, this area is the most climate-saturated acre in tennis. Standing under the wide sky and thick clouds here, you can feel the famous changeability of the British weather. From minute to minute, light turns to gray, breezes kick up and die down, clouds form and disperse, and rain always feels like it’s just over the horizon. For someone used to tropical, overgrown summers in New York, there’s an appealing lightness and mutability to the weather in this spot. Nothing stays the same for long, and tennis feels like a pastime here, rather than a sweaty grind.
In the mornings, though, there’s a bursting density to these lanes and alleys. Before play begins on the show courts, hundreds of fans wedge themselves together here. In the wide pathway next to Courts 4 and 8, people stand three and four deep under hanging flower pots; walking a few feet forward requires patience. Behind them, players appear in the distance, like a race of giants scrambling in different directions on the grass, each a blur in white. They smack a ball and it disappears behind a row of heads, before returning in the blink of an eye—this is county-championship tennis played at video-game velocity. Watching from close range, it’s a little hard to believe the players have time to decide where they're going to hit the ball before they have to take another cut.