Blue sky. Sunglasses. Picnic blankets. Visors. And the most British scene you could possibly encounter: a very long and almost painfully polite queue. It’s 7am on the first Tuesday of Wimbledon, the day Roger Federer and Britain’s Johanna Konta start their campaigns, and the morning after five-times champion Venus Williams was knocked out in straight sets by 15-year old newcomer Cori Gauff.
The steward outside Southfields station points me in the direction of the queue at the grounds. “Is it long?” I ask. “Quite short at the moment, probably about 5,000.” I’ve never been to Wimbledon before, so his sarcasm is lost on me.
As I reach the park gates and see, for the first time, the happy hordes, I pull out my phone for a photo. “It’s colossal, isn’t it?” another steward in high vis says to me. I laugh, and head in. Perhaps it’s some sort of joke – like traipsing through business class to reach the economy seats on a plane – but as people join the queue, they have to walk directly past those who’ve reached the front. They’re in. They’ve done it. The wait is over.
I call over to two women who are a matter of seconds away from entering – the line is moving quickly. They look tired, but have beaming smiles on their faces, and when they start talking, I notice their US accent. “We’ve been queueing for two days!” they shout back. “We’re from Texas, we came over just for this!”
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In fact, as I scan across the crowds, everyone seems to be smiling – and it’s truly the most orderly queue I’ve ever seen. Each person has a “queue card”, dated, timed and numbered to mark their exact place in the line. There’s even a 30-page PDF etiquette guide – everything is polite and planned to a T.
It has to be, because Wimbledon is one of the few major UK sporting events where the public can get their hands on premium tickets on the day itself.
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Judith has been here since 6am on Sunday – she’s sporting a particularly patriotic t-shirt and neckerchief and I have to jog to keep up with her as she reaches the ticket gate. The queue is moving so quickly at this point, people are more interested in reaching the end than talking to me. I ask her how it’s been.
“Really chilled,” she says. “I’ve just been sunbathing, eating food, meeting friends – I love it!”
Everyone along this stretch of queue are the Serial Queuers, I realise – the campers, the tennis fans, the ones who have been waiting all year for this. I spot three guys – who later introduce themselves as Bry, Lloyd and Raj – pictured above wearing tennis whites and carrying old-school rackets. They’ve been here since Sunday.
Why do you do it? I ask. “It’s fun!” they reply. “It’s relaxing, it’s like a camping trip – you make friends, it’s great in the sun, and everyone is in a good mood. And we can’t wait for Federer to WIN!”
Now in their seventh year of Wimbledon, they tell me people seem to be getting here earlier and earlier each tournament – so they do, too. But as they walk through the ticket barriers and cheer, you can tell it’s 100% worth it.
Moving further down the line, I meet the Semi-Pro Queuers, who’ve been camping one night, not two. Spencer arrived at 5.30pm last night with a group of mates. One of them is brushing his teeth when I ask for their photo (which I say is absolutely fine, of course). They had a ball last night, they tell me.
“We love tennis,” Spencer says. “It’s just been really chilled. And it’s not the longest I’ve waited for something. I’ve queued longer to see gigs.”
Slightly further down the queue, John and his daughter have been here since 7pm. John says he is forever impressed with how organised Wimbledon is. When he arrived last night, he was given his queue card and number, and directed to a camping spot. Around 5am this morning, he was woken by stewards who advised everyone to get up, pack their tents, have breakfast and get in line again at 7am with their cards in hand.
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It’s now 7.30am and he’s still in high spirits considering the end is in sight. “This is the fifth year I’ve come and queued, but I used to work here as a student, so coming back is like nostalgia for me,” John says. “It was actually a last-minute decision to come this year because the weather is so good!”
Camping is easy on a day like this, he adds – one year it was so cold he saw the person camping next to him hand their queue card back in and leave. “We’ve picked a good day,” he laughs.
A guy nearby chips in and proudly shows off his official Wimbledon sunglasses. The queuing system has got so much better now than it used to be, Simon tells me – he’s here with his partner Gemma.
“Now it’s queues within queues within queues! Crazy queues! But it works and if you love tennis, it’s all worth it when you get in there.”
As I turn the corner into Wimbledon Park, I finally see the queues within queues he’s talking about and meet some On-The-Day Queuers. Michelle and Connor are from Dublin. They flew in yesterday to their Airbnb, got up at the crack of dawn, arriving at the grounds at 5.45am. They show me their ticket numbers – 3,099 and 3,098 – and tell me they reckon they’ll get in about 11am.
“It does move quick,” Michelle says with enthusiasm. “We’ve got books to pass the time, and food, and we’ll have a little snooze. But the weather is so beautiful that it’s hard to complain, really!”
In the park, people are sitting on picnic blankets, having their breakfast and getting set up for a long morning. They’re fully aware they’re not going to be moving anytime soon.
Rahul (a big tennis fan) and Poonam (a bit of a tennis fan) are numbers 6,463 and 6,464 in the queue – they arrived about 15 minutes ago. “Today’s the busiest we’ve seen it,” Rahul tells me – they’ve been many times before.
“But it’s such a nice atmosphere, it’s part of the day. Everyone is in such high spirits. This queueing is so British, you can just imagine in any other country it’d be nothing like this,” he says.
The last person I speak to is Mike, from Australia, who is at Wimbledon for the sixth time. He queued yesterday from 7am and is doing the same today (and probably Friday, too). Yesterday he queued with his family, who helped pass the time, but today he’s back on his own. “I read, catch up with people on the phone, chat with others in the queue,” he says.
“We actually have a really good time. The reality is, if you want to come you have to queue and people know that, so no one really minds.”
I’m genuinely surprised by how cheery everyone is – a lot easier when the sun is shining, of course, but there is not one single moan about the length of the queue or how long it’ll take.
Everyone’s here for the tennis, and they can’t wait to see some. As I walk out, I ask the steward how many people are now in line. He tells me it’s up to about 7,500. I daren’t tell that to the crowds I see pouring towards the grounds as I head back to the station.
