How cheers and souvenirs have sustained tournament's spirit

Wimbledon has been through its dark days, God knows. In 1940, a stick of five 500lb German bombs damaged large areas of the All England Club. In 1973, the reigning champion, Stan Smith, was among 81 players who boycotted the tournament at the behest of the newly created Association of Tennis Professionals. And 23 years later, on an occasion which still brings a shudder in recollection... well, let's turn to the official account:

"During a prolonged day of rain on the second Wednesday, Sir Cliff Richard entertained the Centre Court spectators by singing many of his old songs."

All three of these traumatic events are dutifully recalled in this year's Wimbledon Compendium, put together by Alan Little, a tome which, as its name suggests, pulls together an enormous amount of information about an event that has been a central part of the English summer, wars permitting, for more than a century.

Witnessing the Wimbledon anthill this week, a week in which a new record one-day attendance of 42,000 was established, it is hard to think of these Championships as anything other than a thriving commercial concern. Yet it was not always thus. Back in 1895, Little's book records a rarity: "A loss of £33 was incurred at the meeting."

Memories of such fiscal disappointment are distant indeed for a championship which annually contributes more than £30m to the Lawn Tennis Association out of its surplus.

Those charged with producing a new generation of players to fill the void once Tim Henman and Greg Rusedski retire agree that the Wimbledon contribution is small beer compared to the expenditure of other tennis nations such as France and Sweden.

Be that as it may, those who regularly transform Church Road into a brimming conduit of tennis folk are making the most effective contribution possible to the domestic future of the game. And ticket sales only make up a proportion of their annual input to the nation's tennis effort; official retail sales of Wimbledon merchandise brought in £45m last year.

The operation, which encompasses outlets at Heathrow and Gatwick Airport, Lillywhites and Harrods – fifth floor, next time you're in there – mostly involves the sale of clothing and towels. Oddly, however, the Wimbledon Shop at last year's Championships sold 3,410 giant tennis balls. But let's draw a veil over that sad fact.

An even sadder fact, at least for the All England Club, concerns the householders along Church Road who annually set up stalls of Wimbledon goodies in their gardens and driveways. They are allowed to ply their wares without paying any tithe to the lords of the manor, although their more official-looking gear – according to stallholder Dave – has to be "30 per cent different".

How do you enforce 30 per cent difference? According to Dave, you can't have the rackets crossed, Wimbledon-style, in your logos. But you can have two rackets.

The instinct to gather souvenirs has been evident for many years. Another item recorded in the All England Club's reference work relates to the first match played on Centre Court following its completion in 1922 to the design of Captain Stanley Peach, who conceived of the mighty edifice which was so constructed that no shadow could appear until 7pm.

You have to love that attention to detail. Imagine the people charged with making the Wembley thing happen – "Build a platform! Don't build a platform! Include athletics! Sod athletics! Put a select committee on to it! Ignore all that rubbish served up by the select committee! Get Bates! Get rid of Bates! Get Carter!" – imagine all them having to include such a small and beautiful item on their agenda. Can't be done, can it?

But to return. Centre Court. 26 June, 1922. 3.45pm. King George V and Queen Mary installed in the Royal Box. Monarch gives three blows on a gong to declare the new grounds at Church Road open and then Leslie Godfree steps up to serve the first ball to Algernon Kingscote, who nets the return.

The official story continues: "Godfree raced forward and pocketed the ball as a memento of the historic occasion."

Just a thought here. If Kingscote has netted the return, then the ball must be on his side of the court. Which means that Godfree has either had to lean over or run around the net in order to catch the treasured sphere.

Clearly something of an opportunist, Godfree got his hands on another precious piece of memorabilia the following year, albeit temporarily, when he was handed the Challenge Cup as a winner in the men's doubles.

Watching the scramble that takes place here for teddies, towels and tote bags, it is clear that Godfree's spirit lives on.