Philip The Bold: Wine, Tennis & Song – A Performance Symposium First Presented At The Real Tennis Society Conference During The World Championships,  Prested Hall, 13 September 2022

During the lockdown period of our recent plague, in 2020, I found some solace while not being able to play real tennis by reading a great deal and writing a little about tennis history. 

One of the most fascinating passages I found is the following paragraph which I quote here verbatim from “The Sports and Pastimes of the People of England from the Earliest Period”, Joseph Strutt, 1801

“During the reign of Charles V . palm play , which may properly enough be denominated hand – tennis , was exceedingly fashionable in France, being played by the nobility for large sums of money ; and when they had lost all that they had about them , they would sometimes pledge a part of their wearing apparel rather than give up the pursuit of the game . The Duke of Burgundy, according to an old historian , having lost sixty franks at palm play with the Duke of Bourbon , Messire William de Lyon , and Messire Guy de la Trimouille, and not having money enough to pay them, gave his girdle as a pledge for the remainder; and shortly afterwards he left the same girdle with the comte D ‘ Eu for eighty franks, which he also lost at tennis.”

[The reference in Strutt simply reads “Laboureur, sub an. 1368”.]   

I wanted to find out more about this 14th century loser of a Duke.

Philip The Bold of Burgundy (1342-1404)

I quickly and easily found out that the Duke in question was Philip The Bold, the youngest brother of Charles V, otherwise known as Charles the Wise.

Charles The Wise – no apparel-loser, he.

Despite the pathetic image conjured by the girdle adage, Philip The Bold was no loser. Heralded for his bravery in battle, he became the most influential French nobleman of his period.

Further, as I shall argue in this immersive presentation, his activities had seminal and lasting effects on worlds as diverse as wine, tennis and music.  But evidence to support such arguments is hard to come by for a period as early as the 14th century.

We really only have three contemporary types of information source. Chronicles [e.g. The Chronicles of Jean Froissart] which record major events and edicts. These tend to tell us that major events happened, with scant evidence about how they happened and almost nothing on activities such as tennis and music.

Secondly, the account books of noble households which provide circumstantial evidence of how activities might have been undertaken. My story will be relying quite a bit on those.

The third type of source, more open to interpretation than the other two, comes from poets and lyricists of that period. We have a few fascinating and amusing pieces of this kind for Philip the Bold’s story.

A Potted History Of Philip The Bold’s Life

Philip was born in 1342, the youngest son of John The Good, who become King of France in 1350. Philip joined with his father in 1356 in the Battle of Poitiers, a couple of decades into The Hundred Years War, where both were taken prisoner and removed to England.

John The Good (but not THAT good in battle)

Philip remained a gilded prisoner in England between 1356 and 1360, thus spending the best of his teenage years in captivity and helping to establish the tradition of English residential secondary education resembling a prisoner of war camp. More seriously, there are contemporary accounts of Philip playing chess with his captor, The Black Prince (Prince Edward of Woodstock), but sadly there is nothing in the chronicles connecting Philip with wine, tennis or music during his period in captivity – they don’t even report the chess match results.

Philip’s mother, Bonne of Luxembourg, had been a great patron of the arts, before her untimely death in 1349 of plague.

Bonne & John, were pretty lookin’ people…

When, in 1360, the 18-year-old Philip returned from captivity to the Valois court in Paris, Guillaume de Machaut, one of the most important composer-poets of the 14th century, who had been one of Bonne’s favourites, was still a frequent guest of the royal household, certainly until the death of King John the Good some four years later. 

Guillaume de Machaut

Douce Dame Jolie by Guillaume de Machaut

The structure of the song is a virelai. The subject matter is fin’amor – often now referred to as courtly love – unrequited love directed towards a perfect, unattainable woman – the singer eventually pleads for his lover to kill him as a mercy to end his torment. Typical.

I performed this one mostly acapella with a short instrumental intro and accompanied outro.

Here is a rather beautiful instrumental version of the piece:

While here is Theo Bleckmann singing the song beautifully with electronic backing which should not be mistaken for traditional 14th century accompaniment:

A Potted History Of Philip The Bold’s Life (Continued)

Philip of Rouvres

In 1361 the 15-year-old Duke of Burgundy, Philip of Rouvres died, probably of plague, which meant that the Burgundy Dukedom technically reverted to the Kingdom of France.  In 1363, John The Good, soon before he also died, secretly conferred the Burgundian Dukedom to Philip. In 1364, Philip’s older brother, now King Charles V, officially invested Burgundy upon Phillip.

Thus Philip was a 26-year-old single Duke at the time of the reported 1368 tennis-girdle incident.

In 1369 Philip married Margaret of Flanders which lined Philip up for a much-expanded Dukedom once Louis of Male, Count of Flanders, died, in 1384. 

Marriage of Philip & Margaret. An end, no doubt, to girdle gambling days.

Four years earlier, In 1380, Charles V died, leaving 11-year-old Charles VI King of France.  Three Dukes shared the regency until the youngster reached majority. Philip was the youngest of those three Dukes, but neither Louis, Duke of Anjou nor John, Duke of Berry were particularly interested in governing France, leaving Philip The Bold as de facto regent.

Charles VI, known as Charles The Beloved. Not Charley the Barmy.

In 1388 Charles VI claimed the throne, but within four years was regularly in the throes of violent mental illness, such that a more tentative, disputed regency was in play for most of the rest of Philip the Bold’s life, which ended in 1404 following a flu-like or covid-like respiratory illness.

Evidence Of Expenditure On Tennis & Music

Returning to the search for evidence of Philip’s tennis playing, one of the on-line sources – is the 1888 book “Itineraries of Philip the Bold and John the Fearless, Dukes of Burgundy, 1363-1419, according to the expense accounts of their hotel. Collected and put in order by Ernest Petit”.  On p475, we find the so-called girdle accounts, recorded as May 1368.  My translation:

“On folio 3 1 of the same account, Monseigneur le Duc, having lost sixty pounds in tennis, gave his belt as a pledge for the said sum to the Duc de Bourbon, Guy de la Trémouille and others, who had won it from him.

“Fol. 9-3 from the same account. The duke’s belt is still given as a pledge to the Comte d’Eu for eighty francs which he had lost with him in tennis.”

Leaving a belt as surety at least sounds a little more dignified than leaving a girdle.  It also has a more “sporting trophy” sound to it.

Battle of Pontvallain – 1370 – Philip probably missed out on this one

There are several references to tennis and dice losses in the expense accounts for the period when Philip was in residence in Saumur on a military campaign in 1372.  On that sequence of occasions, it seems the Duke was not required to leave any clothing as surety but he took pains to seek to return and settle his debts.  [This sequence is charmingly written up on-line on the Les Portes Du Temps website.]

Another fascinating reference, cited in Music at the Court of Burgundy 1364-1419 A Documentary History by Craig Wright, from the account books of 1378, shows Philip presenting Jean De Dinnat with a silver belt worth 29 francs and then 1379 with 10 francs for beating him at tennis. Jean de Dinnant was one of Philip’s favourite musicians who accompanied him at times on his travels. Still, it is most unusual to find an accounted example of a nobleman playing tennis with a minstrel. This unusual transaction makes me wonder whether the 29 franc belt might have previously been mortgaged a few times.

What we do know for sure, as reported by Wright and others interested in the history of music in Burgundy at that time, is that Philip ran up huge expenditures by the standards of his time, sending his minstrels around the music schools in France and abroad – certainly in the period 1378 to 1394, with large payments for musicians travel and instruments recorded many times in the household accounts.

Philip was not the first and not the only French/European noble to do this sort of thing in the 14th century. His parents had been great patrons of the arts, as was to some extent, Edward III of England, whose household accounts show him sending minstrels “across the seas, to learn new songs”, as early as 1335. 

But a concerted bout of international minstrel schooling seems to have been triggered by the Bruges peace conferences of 1375 & 1376, brokered between Philip The Bold and his recent adversary at war, John of Gaunt, the Duke of Lancaster.  One of the few conclusive results of those peace conferences was exchanges of minstrels; Gautier l’Anglais remained in Philip’s employ for several years, while several of Philip’s minstrels travelled to England with John of Gaunt’s retinue. 

Mike Searle / Tutbury Castle (3) / CC BY-SA 2.0

Gaunt, was, like Philip, a princely patron of arts, known as “King of the Minstrels” in the Minstrels’ Court, a form of trade guild centred on Tutbury Castle, where the apprenticeship of minstrels was organised in late 14th century England.  

Song Two: Puis Que Je Suy Amoureux, attributed Richard Loqueville

  • Attributed to Richard Loqueville – a harper and teacher at Cambrai;
  • A rondeau in form;
  • Another unrequited love song – in this one the singer hopes for just one glance from his beloved. Typical;
  • Performs well either as a harp/gittern instrumental or song.

I performed this one as a short instrumental. There is a beautiful recording of this as a harp instrumental performed by Andrew Lawrence King – still available for purchase/download here.

Below is a beautiful rendition of the song by Asteria.

Without question Philip the Bold went large on employing musicians towards the end of his life. When his father-in-law Louis, Count of Flanders, died, Philip retained the entire Flanders collection of musicians along with his own to create probably the largest payroll of musicians anywhere at that time. His prior collection was made up primarily of minstrels, but the collection Philip acquired on the death of Louis of Flanders included a substantial chapel as well as minstrels. The burgeoning importance of the music school at Cambrai in the late 14th and early 15th century was largely attributable to Philip The Bold’s investment in musicians.

We don’t know for sure what types of music specifically Philip The Bold favoured but we do know that Phillip’s library, towards the end of his life and posthumously, was well stocked with Guillaume de Machaut’s work. Machaut, unlike many of the lyric poets who followed him, was very much a composer of music as well as a poet.

One of Machaut’s most famous pupils was Eustache Deschamps, a prolific lyric-poet otherwise known as Morel. Deschamps was a contemporary of Philip The Bold.  Deschamps’s estates in Champagne had been ransacked by the English, probably under the auspices of John of Gaunt. Unsurprisingly, Deschamps writes disdainfully about the English generally. He was, however, fond of Geoffrey Chaucer, another contemporary of these chaps, such that Deschamps wrote a tribute to Chaucer lauding his work.

Geoffeey Chaucer – Eustace Deschamps was a fan

In the 14th century there was no real distinction between lyricists and poets. Much of Deschamps’s canon is written in lyrical forms such as virelays and rondeaus that make it hard to imagine that those poems were not intended to be sung. However, many of Deschamps’s ballad poems, including those that mention Philip the Bold and tennis, were probably intended for recitation, not song.

Philip the Bold is mentioned in far from flattering terms in a couple of Deschamps’ poems. The poem “Ordre de la Baboue” describes an imaginary drinking club of unsightly looking people who are members of Philip the Bold’s household.

Image, assumed public domain/fair use, borrowed from Brewminate

More interesting is the Dit du Gieu des Dez, The Ballad Of The Dice Game, (1395), in which Deschamps imagines a drunken drinking and dice session at the Hotel de Nesle, the Duke of Berry’s Paris mansion – in which Philip the Bold together with his host & the Duke of Bourbon enjoy a night of excess and ribaldry.

The Hotel de Nesle was the location of a very early indoor tennis court, built by Philip The Fair around 1300 for his son Louis, latterly Louis X, the Quarrelsome, who famously died in the aftermath of a game of tennis, possibly drunk, possibly murdered or possibly both.

It is clear from Deschmaps and other medieval sources that an entertainment and gambling session would often have begun with the rigours of tennis and then, to continue gambling, turned to drinking and playing dice.

On similar themes, an earlier, 1372 Deschamps poem, The Charter of Good Youths of Vertus in Champagne, is a satirical ballad, set in Deschamps’s home town of Vertus, explaining how to live a “good life”. This ballad mentions tennis a couple of times.  I shall recite a couple of dozen lines from this relatively long poem (more than 250 lines), sometimes swapping strict meaning to allow the English language version to follow the lyrical and satirical quality of the Medieval French. 

The king of the hedonists,

Lived the long life of a dedanist;

Deep inside a tavern in Vertus,

Badly dressed, yet virtuous;

To all the young in the town,

Who habitually would come on down;

Saying “cheers”, while following this charter faithfully,

Which I shall now report to you thoughtfully and gracefully.

First, as soon as we rise, whatever the time,

Let’s refresh our mouths with the best and most expensive wine;

From dawn until dusk, without leaving or pausing for food,

As none of that would do us any good.

Assign the bill, no-one’s entitled to force it,

He who gripes or tinkers should pay double as forfeit;

Grandiose talk might turn out to be wisest,

Trading in goods might be done in many guises;

Games of tennis and dice often need arbitration,

Agree peacefully – indoors – in the court of libation.

Serve yourselves grandly and serve yourselves lazily,

Never care to work – people kill themselves ploughing crazily;

Play dice and tennis on sloping roofs or on thatch,

To exercise within – but if you must go out – find a match;

In women’s cloisters or communes or village communities…

[…followed by another 160 lines of bawdy verse, which no amount of trigger warnings or woke translation could repair for 21st century ears]

Philip The Bold & The Grapes Of Wrath (Pinot Noir v Gamay)

Those mentions of wine bring me to the third aspect of Philip The Bold’s legacy which I’m keen to discuss with you. 

The beloved Pinot Noir

On 31 July 1395 Philip The Bold made a solemn decree about wine, banning the Gamay grape from Burgundy, insisting that the traditional, high-quality, low-yield grape, pinot noir, be restored to its rightful place in Burgundian vineyards.  [The whole text of the ordinance can be found on-line in many places, including the source linked here.] Here is a loosely translated extract from the ordinance, in which Philip objects to the planting of:

“a very bad and treacherous variety of grape called Gameez, which produces abundant quantities of wine; and to allow the greater production of this bad wine they have left in a ruinous state good places where the best sort of grapes might be grown. Wine from Gameez is the type of wine that is extremely harmful to human beings, to the extent that, we are reliably informed,  many people who previously partook of this wine were infested by serious diseases, because such wine from grapes of that nature is infused with much foul and horrible bitterness. For these reasons we solemnly command all who have said Gameez vines to cut them down or have them cut down, wherever they may be in our country, within five months.”

The ordinance goes on to stipulate and restrict other agricultural practices for Burgundy. It is a seminally comprehensive and prescriptive state decree on food and/or wine standards.  It’s context was almost certainly the aftermath of the plague, which would have hit Burgundian wine-growers badly, both in terms of massively reduced manpower to produce fine wines from a difficult grape such as pinot noir and a reduced wider market for Burgundy’s fine wines. The Gamay grape – a cross-breed between Pinot Noir and a despised, peasant-variety, Gouais, does indeed grow abundantly compared with its high-falutin’ parent grape. Intriguingly, the Chardonnay grape is also a cross-breed between Pinot and Gouais, yet the white cross-breed latterly found favour for the fine white wines of Burgundy.

The decree was not popular at the time. The farmers were suffering and the abundant production of Gamay was saving their livelihoods and those of the wine merchants. The town council in Dijon that August voted that the ordinance was a breach of their privileges, thus rejecting it. Philip the Bold had the Mayor imprisoned and replaced. Also several councillors were fined as a result of that impertinence. When Philip made a decree he really meant it.

The agrarian crisis that led to the decree and followed from it is well-documented,  including a fascinating 1982 academic piece The “Disloyal” Grape: The Agrarian Crisis of Late Fourteenth-Century Burgundy by Rosalind Kent Berlow, and a more folksy article summarising the topic by Rupert Millar on thedrinksbusiness.com is available on-line here.  Further, as Ben O’Donnell points out in The Exile of Burgundy on winespectator.com, Philip did not go so far as to implement his decree in Beaujolais, which he perhaps saw as a lesser, rural backwater in any case. There the Gamay continued to be planted and wines produced from it, as they are still in Beaujolais.

[ANNOUNCE MINI WINE TASTING BEFORE RETURNING BRIEFLY TO MUSIC – the wine samples were served during the remainder of the session]

Burgundian Music & Tennis Reprise

Guillaume Dulay (left) & Gilles Binchois (right)

Towards the end of Philip’s life, a very young Guillaume Dufay was taken to Cambrai by his mother, where he joined the chapel as a choirboy.  Little is known of Dufay’s formative years at Cambrai, but he no doubt have studied under several of the Burundian-sponsored masters and benefitted from the many conventions of musicians for which Cambrai became famous at that time. Parenthetically, there is a beautiful picture in a Cambrai book of hours, dated c1300, of monks playing jeu de paume (see below…or click this link to see many of the stunning images from that Book of Hours).

Paume had been a big deal at Cambrai since c1300, based on this Book Of Hours picture

Dufay lived a long life and his compositions are seen as central to the Burgundian School’s importance in the development of music from Medieval Ars Nova into Renaissance music. This song, probably from early in Dufay’s life, is a rondeau in the ars nova style popular towards the end of Philip The Bold’s life. It would have been close to the top of the medieval charts for several of the early 1400s decades. Unlike the fin’amor love song I sang earlier, this song is a lament for leaving behind a beloved place, along with, no doubt, loved ones in that place.

Adieu Ces Bon Vins De Lannoy by Guillaume Dufay

  • Another rondeau, said to be inspired by Loqueville’s style, as Dufay would have studied under him.

I performed this song acapella.

Here are Asteria again, with a lovely accompanied rendition of this song.

By the end of Dufay’s life, in 1474, the Valois-Ducal-Burgundian line was almost at an end. Charles The Bold died at the Battle of Nancy in 1477 leaving no male issue.  His daughter, Mary of Burgundy, Philip The Bold’s great, great granddaughter, married Maximillian I, ending the Valois dynasty, joining its remainder with the Habsburg dynasty.  The Burgundian lands soon reverted to France, but by that time tennis had become more firmly established as a grand game for nobles as well as a smaller-scale town and tavern game for the middling sort.

Mary of Burgundy (1458–1482).*oil on oak panel.*47.5 x 35 cm

As for music, the cross-fertilisation of music styles between the burgeoning Burgundian School and emerging techniques from England (John Dunstable’s influence was overtly recognised by Burgundian musicians) led to the development of multi-part polyphony based on triads and chords which we now consider central to Western music and which are seen musically as the transition from Medieval to Renaissance music.

My closing number is another lament to a place – Innsbruck – written by Heinrich Isaac, probably in the middle of the 1480s, when he was employed there by the Habsburg Archduke Sigismund. This piece is sometimes misattributed to Maximillian I which is as likely as the attribution of Greensleeves to Henry VIII – i.e. utterly implausible.

Innsbruck Ich Muss Dich Lassen

Here is a recording of my first (2017) attempt at this song for The Gresham Society.

Nearly five years later, I think I’m a little bit better at making music, which is more than can be said for my tennis. The following video is a good example of the full four parts Isaac wrote for this song:

In many ways Philip’s wine & music legacies are more evidentially direct, but his influence on the progress of tennis is, arguably, just as seminal and lasting. We learn from  Jean-Michel Mehl, Les Jeux Au Royaume de France, 1998 that:

“in 1385, Philippe le Hardi had made, in his hotel in Arras, “a pavement of thirty feet of stone to play tennis with palms. Without doubt, this tennis court was still used by Philip the Good.”

The last overt reference to tennis in the accounts of Philip’s household, according to Petit, was in 1390:

“On 10th of March, the duke donated to the lady of Suilly, a clasp of gold, garnished with four brooms and eight large pearls to three children playing tennis, shining, to the value of 180 gold francs. (Letter to the Duke, dated Rouvre 10 March)”

Here we see an older Philip sponsoring things he found beautiful, although whether the donation was primarily for the woman or primarily for the young tennis stars we’ll never know.  But Philip was, repeatedly, a generous sponsor of things he liked and wanted to encourage.  I warm to that aspect of him. I also share his love for wine, tennis and music.

Mini Wine Tasting

Wine One: Morgon La Chanaise 2020, Dominique Piron – Cru Beajolais – Gamay – Price range £12 to £16 per bottle

Wine Two: Les Pierres Rouges Bourgogne 2020, Louis Jadot – Appellation d’Origine Contrôlée – Pinot Noir – Price range £14 to £18 per bottle

Acknowledgements

I’d especially like to thank my friend, Gresham Society colleague and linguist Professor Tim Connell, who has helped me with translation of several Deschamps poems. One fascinating aspect of working through these poems is how open to interpretation some of the material is.  I have most certainly taken liberties with some of Tim’s diligent translation, substituting an attempt to emulate the lyrical and satirical rhythm of the work at the expense of strict meaning/translation.

Also with grateful thanks to my early music tutor, Ian Pittaway, whose patient tutelage on both the music history and the techniques of medieval music-making can only be explained by his depth of knowledge and sense of humour.

Thanks also to my wife, Janie, for tolerating my incessant tapping at the keyboard, plucking at the guitar strings and warbling of the songs, regardless of whatever else might have been on the agenda these past few weeks.

Further Reading & References

Ian Harris’s Ogblog Tetralogy On The Origins Of Tennis:

Tennis: A Cultural History, Heiner Gillmeister, A&C Black, 1998 or Tennis A Cultural History (Second edition), Heiner Gillmeister, Equinox Publishing Ltd, 2017

Real Tennis Today and Yesterday, John Shneerson, Ronaldson Publications, 2015

Willis Faber Book Of Tennis & Rackets, Lord Aberdare, Hutchinson, 1980

The Annals Of Tennis, Julian Marshall, “The Field” Office, 1878

Colloquia Familiaria by Desiderius Erasmus, c1518

Antonio Scaino, 1555, Trattato del Giuoco della Palla (Treatise of the Ball Game)

 A Treatise on Tennis By a Member of the Tennis Club, now attributed to Robert Lukin, 1822

De Corrupti Sermonis Emendatione, Mathurin Cordier (Corderius), 1536

The Sports and Pastimes of the People of England from the Earliest Period, Joseph Strutt, 1801

Music At the Court of Burgundy 1364-1419, Craig Wright, Institute of Medieval Music, 1979.

“Dijon, Burgundy,” in Europe: A Literary History, 1348-1418, Volume 1. Ed. David Wallace. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016: 102-124

The Chronicles of Froissart, Selected, Edited & Translated by Geoffrey Brereton, Penguin Classics, 1968

The “Disloyal” Grape: The Agrarian Crisis of Late Fourteenth-Century Burgundy, Rosalind Kent Berlow, 1982

‘A very bad and disloyal variety’: The banning of Gamay, Rupert Millar, thedrinksbusiness.com, July 2016.

The Exile of Burgundy, Ben O’Donnell, winespectator.com, November 2011.

Histoire et statistique de la vigne et des grands vins de la Côte d’Or, By Jean Lavalle, 1855.

Jean-Michel Mehl, Les Jeux Au Royaume de France, 1998

And Finally…We Visit Wimbledon Centre Court On A Finals Day, 7 July 2022

In the past decade, Janie and I have been incredibly lucky scoring good tickets for Wimbledon in the ballot. Many good days, including quarter finals days and semi finals days. But until now, we have never attended a finals day.

It seems to be my year in this “finals” respect. A few weeks ago I was able to report a first in the matter of me getting to a final playing tennis, albeit the real variety and albeit at Queen’s:

Much as the Queen’s tournament described above was a mixed doubles affair (in that case, mixed ability i.e. handicap doubles), I am talking about Wimbledon’s new idea to hold the Mixed Doubles Final on Ladies Semi-Final day.

In truth, it wasn’t until a couple of days before we went that it occurred to me that I had inadvertently scored a brace of tickets for a finals day. It was a nice surprise when we found out. It became even more of a pleasant surprise when we learnt that Neal Skupski & Desirae Krawczyk would be appearing in that final.

But let us start from the beginning of a truly magical day.

We like to get to Wimbledon reasonably early on such a day to see some smaller court stuff before the grand event. On this occasion we managed to get to the Wimbledon campus about 11:45, giving us nearly two hours to take a look around.

Mili Poljicak
Kilian Feldbausch

First up we wanted to see, on Court 12, the infeasibly named Kilian Feldbausch of Switzerland against the equally infeasibly named Mili Poljicak of Croatia.

Goran Ivanišević also wanted a look at the Croatian lad

We’d missed the first set, which the Swiss lad had won convincingly, but Mili turned it all around in sets two and three, looking very convincing indeed. News update: Mili went on to win the entire Boys tournament.

Mili Poljicak: crazy name, crazy guy – remember where you heard the name first.

Here is a listing of all the games we saw (and the ones we didn’t) that day, if you want to know the scores.

Next, we wandered across to No. 2 Court to take a look at a young American named Liv Hovde against a German girl named Ella Seidel.

Liv Hovde
Ella Seidel

Liv Hovde played really well to win her first set and indeed (it turns out) went on to win not only the match but the entire Girls tournament.

It transpired that we were sitting very close to Liv’s coach, whom Liv was ignoring throughout the set, so we tried to engage him in some motivational pleasantries as we departed, but he did not seem to be an especially communicative chap. Alejandro Garcia Cenzano he’s called, which, together with my new-found Rossiter family connection, made me think of this corny commercial – click here.

Remember where you heard the name first…Liv Hovde I mean.

Next, we popped in to No. 3 Court to see a few minutes of Czech girl Linda Klimovikova against promising Brit Jasmine Conway.

Linda Klimovikova
Jasmine Conway

No. 3 Court has a tasty view of Members & Centre

We saw Jasmine win the first set, by which time we needed to get across to Centre Court for the start of the semi-finals. A steward asked us why we were leaving so soon. We explained. He said…

thank you for slumming it for a while with us here on No. 3 Court,

…which I thought was pretty funny.


On the way to Centre Court we ran into Mats Wilander, Àlex Corretja & Barbara Schett; Daisy was keen to snap them.

First up, Ons Jabeur against Tatjana Maria. Those two are incredibly close friends, by all accounts, which made their embrace and the interview with the victorious Ons after the match especially moving.

Snacking on nuts and fruit only gets you so far at this stage of the day – it was “out with the trout” time:

My classic smoked fish sandwiches

Elena Rybakina serves to Simona Halep…
…and vice versa

Elena Rybakina, surprisingly (to us) blew away Simona Halep. Meanwhile, Matthew Ebden, one of the Mixed Doubles finalists, had only just finished his Gentlemen’s Doubles five-set-epic semi-final on No. 1 Court, so while he got some well-deserved rest, the authorities laid on some Invitation Mixed Doubles to keep the crowd entertained.

Mansour Bahrami serving

Todd Woodbridge & Cara Black verses the evergreen Mansour Bahrami and Conchita Martinez. Some people love this exhibition stuff. I tire of it quite quickly and in any case needed to move my legs and butt, so I decided to go for a stroll after a short while.

On my stroll, I watched the end of an Under 14’s girls match between young Brit Isabelle Britton and young Algerian Maria Badache.

It did not go well for Maria. Isabelle looks very promising.

Then on to Court 8 to see the end of Arabella Loftus (GB) against Marianne Angel of Mexico.

Arabella Loftus
Arabella and Marianne

By the time I got back to Centre Court, the Old Git Doubles was also close to the handshake moment and we started to feel the buzz for the Mixed Doubles Final.

Neal Skupski, Desirae Krawczyk, Matthew Ebden & Samantha Stosur warming up
Ebden serves to Skupski

Those enormous strawberries all had to go.

Soon enough came the winning moment – Skupski & Krawczyk were to be the champions.

It was a long day – over all too quickly. Daisy snapped the headline picture and the one below as we left in the late evening sunshine, which sort-of sums up the Wimbledon vibe.

So-Called “Proper Tennis” At Edgbaston Priory, 17 June But Not 18 June 2022

Beatriz Haddad Maia Awaits

Janie was doing so well with the Leamington real tennis crowd at lunch the day before, until she announced that we would be seeing “proper tennis” at Edgbaston Priory the next day. Following a stoney silence, lunch was swiftly over. At least, that’s how I’m choosing to remember it.

Please don’t tell me she said that…

Mercifully, the fellas refrained from reposting with the phrase “girlie tennis”, which I had previously suggested to them would not go down well with Janie.

Anyway – another day, another form of tennis. Lawn tennis. On proper lawns. Quarter finals day at Edgbaston Priory. A blisteringly hot and sunny day. A sun factor and water aplenty day.

Sorana Cirstea

First up – Sorana Cirstea against Donna Vekic. A really good match, this. Such a long match that I even went for a quick walk to top up my water bottle between sets during the first match of the day. Unprecedented.

At Edgbaston Priory you can just wander around and see e.g. doubles on outer courts

At one point during the final set, Donna Vekic threw herself at a wide ball (unsuccessfully), hurtling straight towards our front row position close to the baseline. She stopped at the barrier right in front of me, looked me straight in the eye and emitted the single-word, modern tennis court oath (as described in this performance piece – click here).

Donna spoke to me”…even if it was an expletive word of one syllable

In the end Sorana Cirstea prevailed 5-7, 6-3, 6-4.

Fun & friendly post match interview with Sorana Cirstea

Next up, Beatriz Haddad Maia (depicted in headline picture) completing a Round Of 16 match against Magdalena Frech.

While they were warming up, we spotted Camila Giorgi’s mad dad (he’s hard to miss) who was taking a not-particularly-surreptitious look at the other players in the tournament.

Camila’s dad, looking as “Harpo Marx” as ever.

Magdalena Frech

Frech was 4-2 up in the deciding set overnight, but Haddad-Maia took advantage of the overnight break to take the match and progress.

Janie and I then took a break from the heat, as we did a couple of times during that day. We wandered to the bar overlooking Court 1 and took some shade. We also took some iced coffee in the refreshments tent.

When we returned to our seats, the match between Shuai Zhang and Dayana Yastremska was quite advanced. We had caught some of the first set on the screens while sitting in the shade. We then watched the remainder of that match and indeed the remainder of the day’s play live.

Dayana Yastremska
Shuai Zhang

Shuai won in straight sets, 7-5, 6-4, over Dayana Yastremska, but it looked far from straightforward and Yastremska still looks like “one to watch” in my book.

The worst of the heat was starting to ease; in any case we stuck around to see the remaining two matches, the first of which being the match between Britain’s Katie Boulter and Simona Halep.

Very watchable, but ultimately doomed, plucky Brit, Katie Boulter

The first set was very watchable but Simona Halep took complete control quite early in the second set to win 6-4, 6-1.

Halep probably still not quite at her best, but good enough on the day

Last up was Beatriz Haddad Maia against Camila Giorgi, which looked on paper to be the best (and potentially closest) match up of the day.

Camila Giorgi…

…was stretched to the limit by Beatriz

But Camila was not at her best after a strong early start. Beatriz Haddad-Maia winning 6-3, 6-2.

One of the longest days of the year, it was still well light when we got home and we made full use of the garden to have our major picnic as an evening meal, having only taken a minor picnic with us to the ground on such a hot day.

Lovely it was.

We were supposed to do it all again on the Saturday for the semi-finals, but the temperature dropped by 15 degrees and it rained all day. That’s the English summer for you.

But we did have a great meal at Colbeh in the evening – a repeat for Janie of 2017 and a repeat of several visits for me.

Finally…Unprecedented Success At Tennis, The Queen’s Club, 11 May & 27 May 2022

Lowenthal Trophy 2022 Finalistas and officials: Simon Marshall, Yuri Kugler, Nick Browne, Carl Snitcher, Josh Farrall, Sebastian Wood, Ian Harris

The words tournament and success do not normally go together in the context of me playing sport. In fairness, until I started playing real tennis I hadn’t actually participated in a sporting tournament for some 40 years.

Albeit a tiny sample, but getting to semi-finals seemed to be my limit. In 1975, my youthful sporting annus mirabilis, I got that far in the Alleyn’s Lower School Fives Tournament.

I even have a trophy for my quarter-final success, for reasons “explained” in the above piece, if you fancy a laugh.

Roll the clock forward a mere 44+ years and I did it again, semi-final-wise, at real tennis, during an autumnal feast of real tennis, described in this piece – click here or below:

But now, I am able to report going two better than semi-final defeat.

In the Dedanists’ Society Lowenthal Trophy event at Queen’s, partnering Sebastian Wood, I not only managed to get to a final for the first time…

…we went on to win the trophy.

Josh Farrall (centre) presented the trophy to me and Sebastian after a splendid dinner at Queen’s. With thanks to The Dedanists’ Society for this and the headline photo

Let us not dwell on the details of how handicap doubles tournaments using vicious sliding handicaps work.

In particular, let us not dwell on how close we came to losing the second of our round robin matches, which we won on a single point decider after creeping from behind to four-games-all.

Played five, won five. Landed the trophy.

I like doubles. Clergé The Younger, the first acknowledged world champion at tennis, primarily played doubles. Some say I bear a passing resemblance to him, you know.

But I’m in danger of letting this fleeting success go to my head, so let us move on.

Dedanists v Jesters At Queen’s, 27 May 2022

Young Bertie Vallat hitting the winning shot in the flagship match of the fixture

The Dedanists’ Society is a private club for real tennis enthusiasts, dedicated to raising funds for the preservation of the game. The Jesters Club is an invitation only club for enthusiasts of court sports such as real tennis, squash, Rugby fives, Eton Fives and padel. Coincidentally, given the origins of my addiction to such games (rugby fives at Alleyn’s), the very first Jesters fixture, in December 1928, was a rugby fives match against The Alleyn Old Boys.

Anyway, this fixture presented me with an opportunity, just a couple of weeks later, to return to the scene of the Lowenthal Trophy crime and enjoy a friendly fixture and another fine dinner at Queen’s.

On this occasion I got a chance to resume my partnership with James McDermott:

Me & James At Royal Hampton Court, October 2019

We prevailed, just about, in our rubber, early in the event, before settling down to enjoying the atmosphere at Queen’s, taking some tea and watching some real tennis.

The flagship match of the event was the father & son combination, Richard & Bertie Vallatt vs Alex Brodie and Andy Keeley. It was a splendid watch for us lesser amateurs and a bit of a leveller for me.

Watching Bertie play reminded me that, on one of my first visits to the Queen’s Club to play real tennis, Bertie thrashed me convincingly (6-0, 6-2) in 2018, when he was aged 12.

Sobering.

But hey, I am one of the holders of The 2022 Lowenthal Trophy. No-one can take that away from me.

One more look

Santaphobia, Sartorialism, Keele Connections And Several Crises At Christmas, 4 January 2022

Sanity Clause, Anyone? – Christmas Eve & Boxing Day

Janie and I are not exactly model celebrants of Christmas. In recent years we have made it our habit to volunteer, primarily for Crisis at Christmas, which is a wonderful charity.

Yet Janie does have a fondness for unusual Christmas decorations, and has long-regretted not photographing the “Christmas Gnomes Tea Party” we drove past on Popes Lane two or three years ago.

But we did stop and snap the above acrobatic (or possibly desperate) Santa on Boston Manor Road, setting aside our santaphobia and praising the owner of the house for his stunning fandangle.

As if that wasn’t excitement enough before Christmas, we also did our first Crisis shift of the year on Christmas Eve:

We are Ged & Daisy for our Crisis shifts. Daisy here was sporting Christmas (and for that matter Z/Yen corporate) colours.

Daisy, for reasons known only to her, tends to pronounce the word “crisis” as “crises”, as if one massive homelessness crisis at Christmas isn’t enough.

Daisy was tempting fate this season with her plurality, in my view. Indeed, we swiftly found ourselves embroiled in a second crisis. The Duchess of Castlebar (Daisy’s mum) had yet another nasty fall on Boxing Day, not even two hours after we left her. So that’s hospital again (the third time since the start of November) and all the palaver that entails.

Keeping calm in a Crisis…or crises

All Isn’t Quiet On New Year’s Day

On New Year’s Day, we were back to Crisis. A smaller team that day with plenty to do; we ended up running the coffee stall / canteen, the clothes store and delivering food to rooms on that shift.

For those who might be blunt or snide enough to throw the “ah, but could he run a coffee/food stall?” question in my direction, the answer is, I believe, “yes” – as evidenced not only by our Crisis volunteering but also by the FoodCycle volunteering Daisy and I have been doing since the start of the pandemic.

Running the clothes store was a different matter.

On Christmas Eve, there was masses of donated stock but it was difficult to find individual items of the requisite type and size for each guest, so some people were taking/writing down orders in the “clothes store”, others were fulfilling them from stock in the basement and then delivering the clothes orders to the rooms. Time consuming but basically a systematic sequence of tasks. Daisy and I worked on fulfilling and delivering clothes orders on Christmas Eve.

New Year’s Day was different. Stocks were running low, with mostly super-large and super-small sizes remaining available. Almost all of the stock had been moved upstairs to the clothes store.

After our session running the canteen, Daisy and I were allocated to the clothes store. That is when we met The Sartorialist; a guest with a particular interest…you might even describe it as an obsession…with the garb on offer.

Daisy tells me that I handled the situation with great patience, but I suspect that my face was betraying whatever my words and tone were belying – I’m not a naturally patient chap. Perhaps sensing my frustration, The Sartorialist kept apologising to me for his persistence, without ever tempering his resolve to see just one more garment, in case it turned out to be a size/colour/style/brand that suited him.

At one point he said to me:

You’re well dressed – why shouldn’t I be?

I pointed out to him my tracksuit bottoms and trainers, similar to those I had worn for tennis a few hours earlier (see below).

I was talking about your top. I don’t wear tracksuit bottoms and I would never, ever wear training shoes.

I thought about my choice of jumper for my Crisis shifts (see above). It must be more than 25 years old. Daisy and I bought it when visiting a provincial town; the weather had turned unseasonably cold on us and I wanted a cheap, comfortable, washable pullover to use as layering.

I also wondered what The Sartorialist might have made of my choice of top – in particular headgear, for tennis (see below).

Geddy In Disguise…With Glasses.

At that juncture, I thought it best to hand the customer-facing side of the Crisis clothing emporium over to Daisy.

Consummate professional salesperson that she is…

…at least in the matter of selling…by which I mean giving away by dint of talking up…charitably-donated goods…

…Daisy successfully persuaded The Sartorialist to take three items of clothing and move on, enabling us to progress with other customers, who were forming an increasing long, yet surprisingly patient, queue.

4 January – A Charitable Keele Connection On Our “End Of Term” Shift

One of the good things about Facebook is the way it informs you about connections with other people who know your friends. On Holiday Monday I joined the relevant private Facebook Group for people who were doing Crisis volunteering shifts in our slot, to spot that one of the volunteers, Amber Bauer, is a friend of Sally Hyman, whom I know from “back in the day” at Keele.

Sally runs a wonderful charity, CRIBS International. It turns out that Amber knows Sally through that charity.

I wondered whether Amber would be on our 4 January shift. I didn’t spot anyone named Amber during our pre-shift briefing, but that “end of term” briefing was…very brief.

But soon after the briefing, one of my first customers when I was staffing the canteen/coffee stall again, had the name badge Amber, so we connected in person.

A little later, Daisy and I took over from Amber on outdoor duty…

…yes it was punishingly cold doing that duty once the temperature had dropped that evening…

…enabling Daisy to take pictures of a very chilly Amber handing over to a not-yet-but-soon-to-be-chilly me:

I look comparatively cold already and I haven’t started the duty yet. Mind you, Amber seemed awfully pleased to see us when we turned up to take over.

Amber and I both reckon that the above picture and story should make Sally Hyman smile – not least because it includes a soft plug for Sally’s wonderful international homelessness charity.

You Want To Know More About The Charities Mentioned In This Piece?…Of Course You Do…Clickable Links Below:

Crisis – Together we will end homelessness
FoodCycle – To make food poverty, loneliness and food waste a thing of the past for every community
CRIBS International – Care for Refugee Interim Baby Shelter

Real Life Begins Around 1740: Delving Into The Previously Untold Story Of Tennis Champion Clergé

More A Question Of “Who?” Than “When?”

The oldest world championship asserted for any sport is the one for tennis. By “tennis”, I mean the sport we now call real tennis, court tennis, royal tennis or jeu de paume.

This piece of amateur research was triggered, towards the end of 2021, by a casual enquiry by Carl Snitcher, a leading light in the Dedanists & Real Champions world, while we were on our way to play a match at Hampton Court Palace.

Carl was wondering whether the asserted date of 1740 for the first real tennis champion was accurate. Some had suggested it was not. I was the only amateur tennis historian Carl had to hand at that moment.

The answer to the exam question: “Did Clergé become the first tennis champion in precisely the year 1740?”, is a reasonably straightforward one; I shall answer it briefly in the next section of this piece.

But I realised, on engaging in this small piece of research, that, far more interesting than the numerical, “when?” question, is the more human query, “who on earth was this initial tennis champion Clergé?”

1740?

The earliest use of the specific date “1740” as the initial championship year is in Julian Marshall’s seminal work, published in 1878, The Annals Of Tennis:

Other great players of this time (1740- 1753) were Clergé, the elder Farolais, La Fosse, Barcellon (the father), and Barnéon. Clergé was the most remarkable…

p33

Subsequent history books, especially those that cite sources and references, use this 1740 date. Those that source/reference that date, including Marshall, cite Traité sur la connoissance du royal jeu de paume et des principes qui sont relatifs aux différentes parties qu’on y joue par Manevieux (1783) as their source. Marshall’s words are mostly a decent translation of the Manevieux passage…

Paumiers qui acquirent, il y a trente ou quarante ans, une certaine réputation de force, furent les sieurs Clergé, Farolais pere, La Fosse, Barcelon pere & Barneon ; — le sieur Clergé étoit le plus vanté…”

P137

…except in the matter of dates, where Manevieux is saying “these past thirty or forty years” rather than stating specific dates. Manevieux no doubt spent several years writing his amateur treatise.

There is other circumstantial evidence, which I’ll discuss later, which makes 1740 as good a guess as any for the start of the period of Clergé supremacy at tennis. More recent tennis historians, such as Kathryn McNicoll (The First & The Foremost A Gallery Of Champions) and John Shneerson (Real Tennis Today And Yesterday), have tended to use “circa 1740” or “1740s” as their base date.

As an early music lover, I am at home with the use of “circa” for dates derived from estimates based on best available evidence. I find the term “circa 1740” suitably precise yet hedged for the starting date of Clergé’s pre-eminence.

Who Was This Manévieux Fella?

Before we explore the story of Monsieur Clergé, I’d like to delve a little into the author, Manévieux , upon whose 1783 writings our knowledge of the early tennis champions is based.

He is almost certainly otherwise (or more completely) known as Louis-Claude Bruyset de Manévieux, who published a couple of other works, in particular a eulogy to his great uncle, Jean André Soubry (1703-1774), Treasurer of France in Lyon.

One of my bugbears is that we have no picture of Clergé, nor of Manévieux for that matter, but there is a contemporaneous portrait of Soubry, which will have to do in the “eye candy” department for the time being:

Portrait by Nicolas de Largillière, presumed to be Jean André Soubry, c1729

The several works of Manévieux, including his tennis treatise, all appear to be available as free e-books through Googlebooks (other sources of this free material are available) – click here.

In the 1783 tennis treatise, Monsieur Manévieux describes himself as an amateur. Whether he means amateur tennis player, writer or historian is unclear. Sounds like my kind of guy in any case.

Manévieux dedicates the treatise to Le Comte D’Artois, who went on to become Charles X after the Bourbon Restoration. As a youngster, Charles, Count of Artois was famous for his drinking, gambling and womanising (presumably he wasted the other 10% of his time), the fashionable rumour of the time was that Charles was having an affair with his sister-in-law, Marie-Antoinette. He famously won a bet with Marie-Antoinette that he could get his architect,  François-Joseph Bélanger, to design and build a party palace within three months. The result, at enormous expense, was the 1777 Château de Bagatelle.

Charles, Count of Artois, painting attributed “after Antoine Callet”, c1775

Charles, Count of Artois was unusually keen on tennis for a French royal of his era. Thierry Bernard-Tambour (good name for a tennis historian, Tambour) in his article on 18th century royal paumiers, registers, from royal archives that that…

Janvier-Jacques [Charrier] became the King’s paumier in 1763, also [paumier to the] Count of Artois

and

[ball making by] Etienne Edmond [Quillard] in 1765 for the Dauphin and the Count of Artois

…which means that Artois did play tennis from his infancy. The Manévieux dedication suggests that Charles retained an interest in the game into adulthood. Shneerson (pp76-77) provides some fascinating insights into Charles’s extravagant behaviours and spending around the game. D’Artois apparently had a hissy-fit when spectators applauded his opponent in a public court. After that, he only wanted to play on private courts. Between 1780 and 1786 he had his architect, Belanger, build him a court on the Boulevard du Temple – as much for drinking, gambling and womanising as for watching/playing tennis if the designs are anything to go by. That was probably the last pre-revolution court built in France.

Charles spent several years in England during his exile from France, during which time he is known to have played regularly at the James Street (Haymarket) court, spectators presumably having been warned not to cheer the future King of France’s opponents.

But let us now return to Monsieur Clergé himself.

Wikipedia (Unusually Not) To The Rescue

My usual starting point for research of this kind is Wikipedia, but on this occasion, at the time of writing (December 2021), Wikipedia was having a bit of a shocker in the matter of our first named tennis champion, Monsieur Clergé.

Here is Clergé’s (wafer thin) Wikipedia entry, archived 26 December 2021.

Here is the Wikipedia entry for real tennis world champions, archived on the same date, which (wrongly) supposes our hero Clergé to be “Clergé the elder”. That entry also wrongly supposes the great Masson who followed Clergé, to be Raymond Masson, whereas it is now firmly believed that Antoine-Henri Masson (1735-1793) was the great Masson (Nicholas Stogdon via The British Museum, Bernard-Tambour, McNicoll, Shneerson). In particular Bernard-Tambour clarifies that Raymond Masson was a less exalted player, born 1740, a cousin of the great Antoine-Henri.

By the time you get to read this piece, the Wikipedia entries might well have been improved, so here are links to the live entries:

“Clergé” live Wikipedia entry.

“List of real tennis world champions” Wikipedia entry.

So Who Was Clergé The Elder?

Having explained that our hero was the younger Clergé, I should explain what little we know about “Clergé The Elder”.

Our older source is the nineteen volume Journal of the Marquis de Dangeau, with the additions of the Duke of Saint-Simon – you can read or download the whole lot through this link.

Philippe de Courcillon, Marquis de Dangeau (1638-1720) by Hyacinthe Rigaud

Parenthetically, it is amusing to note that Louis de Rouvroy,The Duke of Saint-Simon founded his own fame and reputation as a memoirist on the back of his annotations of Dangeau’s memoires, despite stating that Dangeau’s writing was:

of an insipidity to make you sick.

Still, the period of the Dangeau memoires; 1684-1720, covered the last 30+ years of The Sun King, Louis XIV’s reign and the early years of the Louis XV era.

Here is an example from the autumn of 1685:

Sunday 4 November 1685, in Fontainebleau. – The King went to shoot; My lord [Louis the Grand Dauphin] did not go out all day; he made the good jeu de paume players play, and Jourdain played better than little Breton or little Saumur had ever played, as people say at that time.

I am not the first tennis historian to trawl those 19 volumes for nuggets of information about tennis, nor will I be the last. It is mostly pedestrian stuff, but I discern and summarise the following:

  • tennis was on the whole falling from favour in royal circles during that period;
  • more or less only in the autumn, when the royals were at Fontainebleau and Versailles for the hunting season, does tennis feature at all in their lives;
  • younger members of the royal family would “have a go” – Louis the Grand Dauphin was still having an occasional hit in the earlier period of those diaries. For example, on 3 December 1686, he played on the three-day old new court at Versailles – the Grand Dauphin continued to play regularly there throughout the winter of 1686/87, but the novelty of playing there soon wore off for him;
  • there was more enthusiasm for watching professional players play than for having a hit themselves – the royals tended to watch if the weather was too poor for hunting and/or if they were entertaining visiting dignitaries, such as exiled English royals;
  • one of the Jourdain brothers was the pre-eminent player in the mid 1680s at least;
  • in October 1687 the professionals at Fontainebleau petitioned The Sun King for a licence to exhibit their skills in Paris; this he granted:

Thursday 9 October 1687, in Fontainebleau. – The King saw the good players of jeu de paume play, who asked that they be allowed to take money to see them play in Paris; it would earn them money, and apparently the king will allow them.

Sunday 26 October 1687, in Fontainebleau. – The king saw the good players of jeu de paume playing, and granted them the privilege they asked for; they will play twice a week in Paris, and will be displayed like the actors. They are five: the two Jourdains, le Pape, Clergé et Servo.

I believe the above mention of Clergé The Elder to be the only one by Dangeau himself. There is a further mention in the autumn of 1690 which comes from a Saint-Simon footnote, the detail presumably extracted from Mercure:

Thursday 12 October 1690, in Fontainebleau. – The bad weather made it difficult for people to go hunting. – The king led the exiled royals [James II & Mary of Modena] of England to the tennis court, where the great players played (1).

(1) “The weather was so bad in the afternoon that we could not go chasing the deer. So we only went to the game of jeu de paume, where a game between the Jourdain brothers and le Page, Clerget [sic] and Cerveaux against them, gave a lot of pleasure.” (Mercure of October, p. 297)

The great journalistic tradition of mis-spelling names goes back at least to the 17th century

Eagle-eyed lovers of tennis might have noticed that the account suggests that the exhibition match might have been three-a-side, or possibly three-against-two. Accounts from the 17th and 18th century, such as they are, suggest that such matches were quite common at that time – possibly even the norm for exhibition matches.

From Art du paumier-raquetier, et de la paume by François-Alexandre de Garsault, 1767

What Do We Know About The Initial Tennis Champion, Clergé The Younger?

The first thing to say is that there must have been an elder and younger Clergé, despite some histories suggesting that the Clergé referred to by Dangeau in 1687 and the Clergé referred to by Manévieux as being pre-eminent for some years from c1740 might have been one and the same person.

Even those of us who marvelled at the skills displayed at Lord’s, until recently, by nonagenarians Robin Simpson and the late Major Jan Barnes, would admit that the giddy heights of skill described by Manévieux are probably only at their peak for a decade or two or (at a push) three.

In The Annals Of Tennis, Julian Marshall suggests that Manévieux’s Clergé is…

possibly a son, or grandson, of a player of the same name, mentioned above [by Dangeau]

…while in Real Tennis Today and Yesterday, John Shneerson is more resolute:

probably the grandson of the Clergé who played in front of Louis XIV.

I agree. The tennis business tended to be a family business, in those days to an even greater extent than it is today. Assuming our c1740 champion Clergé was the grandson of the Louis XIV petitioning and performing Clergé, it is probable that the father was also “in the business”.

In truth, we know almost nothing about the early life of the younger Clergé.

David Best’s research into the Whitehall tennis courts finds our hero employed there in 1736. As Kathryn McNicoll points out in The First & The Foremost A Gallery Of Champions:

…it is possible that he [Clergé] taught [Frederick] the Prince of Wales to play the game

Frederick, Prince Of Wales by Philip Mercier c1736

But it is Manévieux’s rapturous report in Traité sur la connoissance du royal jeu de paume et des principes qui sont relatifs aux différentes parties qu’on y joue that led to Clergé being lauded as the champion c1740. Let’s examine what M Manévieux had to say. These passages, pp 136-138, have been extracted and translated into English before, not least by Julian Marshall in 1878 – but here is my modern translation of them in full:

The Master Paumiers who acquired, over the past thirty or forty years, a certain strong reputation, were Messrs Clergé, Farolais (the father), La Fosse, Barcelon (the father) & Barneon. Mr Clergé was the most extolled by the strength of his first stroke, which he executed perfectly. He was the man who played the doubles game best, taking only the shots he had to, according to the rules, bolstering & warning his second, strong or weak, to take the ball. Very different from other players, who tend to make their second useless, by hogging the whole game.

When Clergé had taken the serve [hazard end], he advanced to the last [winning] gallery, appearing to defend the galleries with volleys from boasts, cross-court forces and shots off the tambour, warning his second to play the others. On the service side, he would take his place in the line of four tiles [around chase one-and-two] near the [dedans] post, where he volleyed forehand or backhand the forces or boasts off the main wall. He preferred to allow the ball to land a chase than to move from this position & let his second play all the other shots.

Nobody, in a word, was nor will be held in higher regard, not only for the strength of his game, but also for the strength of his character – Mr Clergé was a totally honest paumier. There was no deceit to his game nor did he succumb to the commercial interests that sooner or later tend to prejudice the professional player; he never played for money.

It really does sound as though he was a great bloke, Clergé, as well as a great player.

We think we know just a little more about his later life.

In 1751, René Clergé received a Paumier-Raquettier supernumerary patent, as evidenced in the French National Archives.

In 1767, the same René Clergé received a patent of Paumier Raquettier du roi … following the death of Monsieur Liebault.

Between those two notable/notarised events, we find our hero assisting Louis Joseph, Prince of Condé in putting the finishing touches on his jeu de paume court at Chantilly, in 1756/1757.

Alexandre-François Caminade: Portrait of Louis Joseph de Bourbon, Prince of Condé

Modern travellers can stay at the Auberge Du Jeu De Paume in Chantilly, where the former tennis court is now an exhibition and events hall.

There is more detail in the article Chantilly et ses princes : des Lumières à la Révolution by Stéphane Pannekoucke, including a full name for our hero:

Henri-René Clergé du Gillon

It was Clergé who put the finishing touches on that Chantilly jeu de paume and who also acted as paumier to Louis Joseph, Prince of Condé for some while after that:

It is to Henri-René Clergé du Gillon, master paumier, that
we entrust the regulatory finish of the room, to
namely “the black painting of the Jeu de Paume three separate times”. Finally, we equip the room with nets and we
buy different “utensils” needed for the game for nearly 1,500 pounds.

By that time, Guillaume Barcellon had been appointed paumier to King Louis XV, in 1753. Modern historians suggest that Clergé’s supremacy as a player had probably waned by then and that Barcellon was the champion player for a dozen or so years.

Guillame Barcellon 1726-1790, by Etienne Loys, 1753. In Wimbledon Museum, this image borrowed form the Fontainebleau Jeu de Paume Circle on Facebook.

We also know, based on an undated mention in Manévieux, that Antoine-Henri Masson at one time (probably after 1765, once his supremacy had been established) challenged and defeated Clergé and Charrier, having given them half-fifteen in handicap.

Antoine-Henri Masson 1735-1793, this image from British Museum website

Thierry Bernard-Tambour in his paper Les maîtres paumiers du roi au XVIIIe siècle, explains that, once Louis XVI comes to the throne, more detail is kept in the royal accounts, which informs us that the following paumiers were on the royal books in 1775:

La Taille et La Taille the younger, Bunelle, Clergé, Farolet,
Masson, Charrier and Barcellon

But, when Manévieux lists paumiers and their courts at the end of his 1783 treatise, the name Clergé is absent. Possibly he had retired, possibly he had died between 1775 and 1783.

There might now be enough evidence gathered in one place (I’m pretty sure this article is more comprehensive than anything previously published about Clergé) to enable a keen historian to dig deeper and uncover more.

Picture This: Henri-René Clergé du Gillon, aka “Clergé The Younger”

I mentioned earlier that it seems such a shame that we have no portrait of the first champion of tennis, the first sport to establish a continuous world championship.

We have images of Barcellon and Masson, who followed soon after Clergé The Younger, but none of our hero. Perhaps he eschewed pictorial publicity as well as pay for play.

So I decided to commission a fine artist – the only amateur fine artist I had to hand at that moment – to create an artist’s impression of what Clergé The Younger might have looked like.

Nobody was nor will be held in higher regard, not only for the strength of his game, but also for the strength of his character ”

There you have it – Clergé The Younger – he looks and sounds like such a fine chap.

Acknowledgements

With grateful thanks to the many encouraging and helpful people whose comments and ideas have shaped and are shaping my scribblings on tennis history. In particular thanks to Thierry Bernard-Tambour for additions and corrections (currently in process).

Back To Life, Back To Reality… Almost, November 2021

Thanks to Giles Stogdon for the above photo.

At the beginning of November, life seemed to be almost getting back to normal. Lots of real tennis in convivial circumstances for a start,

Thursday 4 November 2021 – MCC Real Tennis Skills Night

For my sins, I have inherited, from John (“Johnny”) Whiting, the role of “match manager” for the popular skills nights at Lord’s. A few years ago, on hearing John and the professionals discussing the amount of organising the event needs on the night, I made the schoolboy error of offering to help next time. John saw the offer of help as an opportunity to step down; frankly, Johnny had done it for so many years, who can blame him?

Fortunately for me, Johnny had left comprehensive instructions and spreadsheets rendering the event almost fool-proof, as long as there are a couple of pros who know what they are doing to make the event run smoothly on the court, which, of course, it did.

My review of the event can be found on the MCC website through this link.

Alternatively, if anything ever goes awry with the MCC site link, a scrape of the report can be found here.

Naturally, skills night is as much an exercise in conviviality as it is an exercise in tennis court skills.

However, the assembled throng did have to listen to me waffling on about prizes and the like:

Thanks again to Giles Stogdon for this photo

A Week Of Tennis & Dining Out 6 to 12 November 2021

Quite a week. Janie and I went to Simon Jacobs place for dinner on 6th, where he cooked a delicious soup followed by chicken & mushroom pie. Lots of chat about music and that sort of thing. No photos on this occasion but there are photos from our previous visit, before lockdown 2.0:

I played a fair bit of tennis that week, not least a ridiculous 24 hours during which I played an hour of real tennis singles on the Tuesday evening, two hours of modern tennis on the Wednesday morning (part singles, part doubles), then a match, representing MCC against Middlesex University on the Wednesday, which ended up being another two-and-a-half hours of doubles. No wonder I served a couple of double-faults at the end of my second rubber on the Wednesday evening. Again, no photos from the match this time, but here’s a report with pictures and videos from the most recent equivalent home fixture – a couple of years ago:

On Thursday 11th, I went to the office for the first time (other than for a team meeting) in more than 18 months. Then I met up with Johnboy – initially in “Ye [sic] Old Mitre” (it really should read “þe Old Mitre”, you know) and then on to Chettinad Restaurant (my choice), as I thought a high-quality Indian meal would be a good way for us to “get back on the bike” of dining out. The food was very good.

It had been a really long while since John and I had met up for a simple restaurant meal – our last few gatherings had either been at homes, the four of us or the four of us at homes. This Yauatcha meal might have been the previous one:

Then on the Friday I was evicted from this year’s MCC singles tournament for feeble-handicappers in the Round of 16. I don’t think I’ll try tournament singles again. I love playing singles more than doubles on a friendly basis but doubles makes more sense at my level for matches and tournaments.

Tennis At All Sorts Of Levels, Performances Of Various Kinds & A Bit Of A Boost, 15 to 29 November 2021

On 15 November I spent a very jolly afternoon at The Queen’s Club watching real tennis played by real players; The British Open 2021.

I saw Neil Mackenzie take on Matthieu Sarlangue, then Zac Eadle challenge Nick Howell, then finally (and most excitingly, a five setter) Edmund Kay against Darren Long. Here is a link to the draw/results on the T&RA website. If by any chance that link doesn’t work, I have scraped the file to here.

I spent much of the afternoon & evening with my friend/adversary Graham Findlay with whom, by chance, I was due to battle with myself that very Thursday. I was thus able to reciprocate the coffee and cake Graham kindly treated me to at Queen’s with a light bite in The Lord’s Tavern after our battle on the Thursday, before I went home to perform my latest ThreadMash piece – click here or below.

Janie and I had an afternoon of adventure on the Friday, having our Covid vaccinations boosted (we don’t get out much these days – all such matters need noting).

Picture actually from first vax

Most people reported a sore arm and aches. We both got the aches but strangely my arm did not feel at all sore at the vaccination site and I was able to play lawners lefty-righty all weekend.

A quieter week followed. I continued to play some doubles in partnership with Andrew Hinds, in preparation for our R16 match – this we did Tuesday 16th and Monday 22 November.

Janie and I were due to see Lydia White…

… star in Little Women at The Park Theatre on the Thursday, but sadly our performance needed to be cancelled due to cast illness (not Lydia) that day, so we’ll miss the run now.

On Monday 29th, Andrew Hinds (depicted wooden-spoon-wielding, left, in the photo below) and I won a place in the quarter finals of the feeble-handicappers’ doubles tournament.

With thanks to Tony Friend for this photo From skills night

Due to competitor/court availability (or lack thereof) before the seasonal break, that means that we shall still be in the 2021/22 tournament into the New Year – the equivalent of getting to week two of a grand slam lawn tennis tournament – but in a very slightly less-elevated way.

Let Them Eat Cake & The Tennis Court Oath, ThreadZoomMash Performance Piece, 18 November 2021

A few weeks ago, I played an especially close and exciting real tennis tournament match at Lord’s, emerging victorious – in straight sets but by the narrowest of margins in each set.

Exhausted but happy, I stopped at Porchester Waitrose on my way home, to pick up bread and other comestibles for my supper.

But I discovered the in-house bakery covered in tarpaulin, with signs reading, “No Entry” and “Due to a leak in our ceiling we have had to close down this area…”

Opposite the bakery were mostly bare shelves, where normally the bread would be. But one shelf was fully stocked, bulging with packs of brioche loaves and brioche rolls.

“Qu’ils mangent de la brioche”, I said to myself. In the circumstances; who wouldn’t?

The English expression. “let them eat cake” is, in fact, a loose translation of the phrase, “qu’ils mangent de la brioche”.

I don’t like the loose, English translation. Brioche is, in my opinion, a rich form of bread. Classified as viennoiserie, brioche is almost pastry, but not a piece of cake.

Bread, pastry, biscuit, cake; these distinctions might seem trivial or inconsequential. Yet, in the early 1990s case of McVities v HMRC,  the very VAT status of Jaffa Cakes hinged on whether that particular delicacy should be defined as a cake (zero-rated) or a chocolate-covered biscuit (standard rated). The tribunal ruled that the product had nine characteristics, some cake, some biscuit, but on balance determined it to be a cake.

Two hundred years earlier, Marie Antoinette’s place in history was determined, formally, at the hands of the French Revolutionary Tribunal. Unfortunately for Marie Antoinette, her informal reputation is entwined with the phrase “let them eat cake” or “qu’ils mangent de la brioche”, despite the fact that there is no evidence that she ever used the phrase and a great deal of evidence that she couldn’t possibly have originated it.

Marie Antoinette – say what?

Jean-Jacques Rousseau coined the phrase in his Confessions, attributing the anecdote to an unnamed “great princess”.  Rousseau wrote Confessions between 1765 and 1769, when Marie Antoinette was still a nipper and before she had ever been to France.

Rousseau might even have made up the anecdote. Another possibility is that the anecdote originated with Marie Theresa of Spain, about 100 years earlier.

Marie Theresa being “handed over” to Louis XIV

Marie Theresa was consort to Louis XIV, The Sun King, during an extremely lavish era – when Versailles was transformed from a hunting lodge into the opulent palace we now associate with Versailles.

Marie Theresa died in 1683, before the Versailles tennis court was completed, but her son, Louis, The Grand Dauphin, played an inaugural game on that court in 1686. 

Louis The Grand Dauphin

Roll the clock forward a hundred years again, to 1789. The Versailles tennis court played a crucial role in the French Revolution. In June 1789, the Third Estate or National Assembly of commoners, found themselves locked out of the chamber by order of the King.

Dr Joseph-Ignace Guillotin

Joseph-Ignace Guillotin, suggested that they congregate instead in the nearby Royal Tennis Court of Versailles, where they swore a collective oath, similar in style to the US Declaration of Independence, “not to separate, and to reassemble wherever circumstances require, until the constitution of the kingdom is established”. 576 of the 577 members of the assembly took the oath.

The Tennis Court Oath was a seminal moment in the progress of the French Revolution. Ironically, though, the tennis court oath neither benefitted the reputation of tennis nor that of Joseph-Ignace Guillotin.

Jeu de paume, as the French call real tennis, virtually died out in France in the aftermath of the French revolution.  In tennis’s 17th and 18th century heyday, there were hundreds of courts in Paris alone. 

Joseph-Ignace Guillotin was a doctor who opposed capital punishment. He advocated the use of a quick, painless blade mechanism, but only in preference to the more torturous methods of execution commonly used.  It was much to the doctor’s chagrin that the deadly mechanism acquired his name. There is an urban myth that Dr Guillotin was himself thus decapitated during the reign of terror. It is true that A Dr Guillotin met that fate, but not Dr Joseph-Ignance Guillotin, who was imprisoned, but survived the reign of terror by the skin of his teeth.

I mused on all these matters that evening, a few weeks ago, while munching my brioche and reflecting on winning a tennis match by the skin of my teeth.

The oath I had heard on the tennis court that evening was the single expletive, “shit”, used by my opponent so many times, he got a warning from the marker (umpire).  I wondered how many of the 576 subscribers to the original Tennis Court Oath were reduced to such lesser, expletive oaths, soon after their revolutionary gesture.

Changing the social order, like brioche, is not a piece a cake.

Pas un morceau de brioche

A Day At Hampton Court Palace Representing The Dedanists v The Hamsters, 21 October 2021

A real treat of a day out for real tennis – such a long time since I have been able to do one of these.

Selected to represent The Dedanists against The Hamsters (a select subset of the Royal Tennis Court membership), I again, as last time, enjoyed the company of Carl Snitcher on the journey from Central London to Hampton Court Palace.

Carl with ball in hand

Here and below is my write up of the fixture from two years ago:

Again, this time, James McDermott was my partner, but, on this occasion, we were down to play the first rubber rather than the last of the match. That left me available for much of the day to do some match marking – I actually marked two of the other rubbers in the 2021 match.

In between those playing and marking activities, there was plenty of time for convivial chat and eating a wonderful lunch.

I wrote up the match for The Dedanists’ Society website, so no need to repeat those details here.

This scrape of the blog page shows our match as the second one down – the above link is live so the report will forever move down the page as more reports are added to that one!

Of course the pandemic isn’t over, but this sort of day marks a further return to something closer to normalcy. It was a splendid day and I thoroughly enjoyed the match and the company.

One of my better shots

Four Seasons & Four Rainbows For Our London Cricket Trust Launch At Birchmere Park, 6 July 2021

Not just one rainbow but four: a very special event

Still emerging from lockdown, I have not spent a great deal of time face-to-face with people for some while.

Indeed, apart from the regular volunteering Janie & I do with FoodCycle, it has only been my Trustee activities with the London Cricket Trust (LCT) – putting cricket back into London’s parks – that has got me out and about since the partial re-opening.

On 18 May, for example, I visited my friend Rohan Candappa in Crouch End…

Crouch End’s equivalent of the bread line emerges daily outside the Sourdough Shop

… and then went on to meet Sophie Kent, one of the LCT Trustees, to take a look at Hornsey Cricket Club to discuss a prospective indoor cricket facility project (not an LCT one).

Half-close your eyes, wish and imagine…

On 9 June we had a face-to-face LCT meeting at The Oval. Dumbo, my car, was very excited at the opportunity to park within the hallowed grounds of The Oval, adding to his bucket-list collection of “cricket grounds within which I have parked”:

Why shouldn’t Dumbo have a bucket list like everyone else?

But I digress.

Birchmere Park via New Zealand, Hendon & The Woolwich Ferry

I started the day in New Zealand. Not physically of course, but I did Zoom over to Wellington for a short meeting on Z/Yen business.

Then I set off for Hendon, to Middlesex University for a game of real tennis, in which a sixteen-year-old utterly took me to pieces. I had pretty much been able to keep up with him a couple of weeks ago, but his regular play post GCSEs and the rapid improvement available only to people 40 or more years younger than me means that he is at least 10 handicap points better than me now and shall soon sail off into the stratosphere of only wanting to play with serious sporty folk and pros.

It doesn’t get much better than this

Having allowed bags of time to get to Birchmere Park in Thamesmead, I trusted Waze to sat nav me there and was led to expect to arrive more than an hour before the event, via the Woolwich Ferry. Time for a wander around when I get there, I thought.

I had never attempted the Woolwich Ferry before. My only real knowledge of it, from my youth until this day, was traffic announcements on Capital Radio & Radio London saying that only one ferry was operating and that there were hour-long queues as a result.

I didn’t listen to the radio on my journey from North-West to South-East London. Why should I? The sat nav does that traffic guidance job these days…

…except that the sat nav clearly didn’t know that today, as in my radio-listening days of yore, the ferry was operating with just one boat and the queues were some 40 minutes long.

The Woolwich Ferry from a Dumbo perspective

Still, it was another tick on my bucket-list and Dumbo was very excited to travel by boat again, for the first time since his trip to Ireland with us six years ago.

Fortunately I had allowed so much extra time for this journey, even with the long wait for the ferry, I still arrived at Birchmere Park about half-an-hour before the event.

New Zealanders have an expression for their weather – all four seasons in one day – which can apply to English weather too and certainly did apply on this day. In fact, I think I can safely say that I experienced all four seasons in one two-hour journey from Hendon to Thamesmead.

By the time I arrived at Birchmere Park it was unquestionably the rainy season. It was bucketing down.

My trusty weather app suggested that the rain would ease off after about 15 minutes and even suggested that it should stop completely to allow us a 45 minute event in dry weather.

And so it was. The weather smiled on us for our launch. Only the multiple rainbows in my picture present clues to the changeable weather on that afternoon.

As the Trustee of a cricket charity that is putting dozens of non-turf pitches into parks around London, I am glad to point out that only a non-turf pitch would be playable just a few minutes after the sort of deluge we experienced that afternoon.

Can you see the join?

These cricket pitch projects tend to need several organisations to come together. In this case, not only the LCT, the ECB and the local (Greenwich) council, but also Peabody and in particular its Thamesmead Regeneration arm. It was very interesting to meet the various dignitaries and activists from the area. I also sensed genuine interest in progressing more projects of this kind in that corner of Greater London.

I took my stroll around after the main event. Birchmere Park is a charming place with a lake and plenty of bird life on the far side of the park.

Birchmere Park lake – a lovely, peaceful spot