By Steve Line
(Article originally appeared in SP Issue 23.3)
I know it’s cliché but it really does feel like yesterday!
I was sitting on the sofa with my housemate, Jeanette, trying to impress her with the photographs I’d managed to get into the February 1982 edition of ‘Sussex Life’.
‘Managed eight this issue – that should pay this month’s rent!’.
She looked askance at me, a fledgling photographer, but then she spotted an ad and her enthusiasm changed – it read;
‘Patrick International Squash Festival’
See the world’s best squash players compete at Chichester Lawn Tennis and Squash Rackets Club
Starting March 20th with the finals on stage at The Festival Theatre
“Hey, you play a bit of squash, what about this? You might even get to do a bit of travel’, she added sarcastically.
I explained that the market for squash photographs was likely very limited – there was one magazine, The Squash Player – and even if they used a couple of photos I’d be lucky to break even by the time I’d paid for petrol, film and developing.
But, after some words of encouragement and not a little provoking, I found myself on my motorbike on a sunny spring afternoon for what would turn out to be a life changing experience.
With my camera bag strapped to the bike rack, I parked up at one of the top squash clubs in Sussex, unloaded my gear and strode into reception with an air of confidence.
‘Hi, I phoned earlier about taking some photos….you said that you’d try and find me the key to the camera pit’.
‘Ah, yes’, the girl a reception replied, ‘Took us an age – the groundsman had it. Here you are…good luck!’
I should have heeded her warning!
I wandered around the outside of the club and found a small hut bolted to the wall. The key fitted and, with some effort, eventually turned and I found myself in a room packed with shovels, rakes, buckets and cleaning equipment from floor to ceiling.
My eyes eventually adjusted to the gloomy surroundings and there, between a mound of compost bags and a rusty old lawn mower, I saw a rim of light.
I swept the cobwebs aside and squeezed my fingers into the gaps either side of a wooden board and pulled. Suddenly a swath of light filled the gloom – I felt like Indiana Jones discovering the Lost Ark!
Peering through the dusty glass panel I saw 2 players hurtling around the court with the thwack, thwack of the ball on the wall above my head – a sound that was to become only too familiar.
As I sat myself down, I realised the players were running towards me – and I could see their faces. For anyone viewing squash from their club’s court balconies, this was a total revelation!
I dragged my camera bag next to me and took out my faithful Canon AE- 1, put on a 50mm lens, fed the black and white film leader into the take up spool, wound on a couple of times and closed the back.
It was time to take my first ever squash photograph.
I waited for the rally to stop, quickly cleaned the glass with my sleeve and peered at the court through the viewfinder.
It looked bright with the white walls. I then took a light reading……wow, it was dark!
I knew to get a usable image I’d have to use a fast shutter speed with the lens aperture wide open – and even then I’d be underexposing the film, which meant another couple of minutes for it in the developing tank when I returned home, not helping the image quality.
But, hey, what a dynamic scene I was witnessing – and I was almost on court with them!
Both players were moving quickly, but one oozed grace, poise and elegance on the ball. I looked at the order of play – Geoff Hunt v Gawain Briars. I’d heard of the great Australian and he was taking the gangly Brit to the cleaners!
I snapped away at what looked like good shots (in those days you didn’t know how good a shot was until the film was developed) winding the camera on as fast as I could – I had to wait to the following year to invest in a three frames per second motor drive (which pales against the 14 frames per second of my current camera!).
I changed to a telephoto lens and the task of trying to manually follow focus on the players became even more difficult. However, it was great to get in close and see the sweat flying off the player’s faces, the close combat around the ‘T’ area and sense their emotions as I looked into their eyes.
Brilliant stuff!
I loved it and shot the rest of the quarter finals that day. I locked the door, dusted myself down and returned the key to a slightly surprised receptionist.
‘You’ve been so long we thought we’d lost you!’.
I said I’d missed the first quarter final. ‘That’s not surprising’, she replied, ‘The young Pakistani won in about 20 minutes. He’s amazing!’
I looked at my order of play – Jahangir Khan v Trevor Wilkinson – I made a note to look out for him in the future.
As I was leaving the receptionist said’ ‘You must come along for the final – it’s being played in the theatre next door and everybody’s going!’
The court that was built inside Chichester Theatre was one of the first demountable courts ever to be used and was set up so the audience was looking through the front wall.
I arrived just before the start and settled myself down in front of ‘tin’ to take those front on shots again – but then sensed an outbreak of murmuring behind me. I turned round to see 500 pairs of eyes looking at me!
I waved apologetically, explained the problem to one of the organisers who then directed me up three flights of stairs. I spent the next hour or so shooting down through the court lighting rig – another different squash viewing experience!
However, it was fantastic to witness two supreme athletes manoeuvring each other around the court at such speed: eventually Jahangir managed to avenge his defeat of two years earlier which had earned the Australian his eighth, and last, British Open title and which Hunt described to me, 30 years later, as the greatest win of his career.
I covered the Chichester event again the following year when Jahangir beat the Egyptian, Gamal Awad, in 2hours 46 minutes – then the world’s longest ever match.
A week later The Squash Player’s new editor, Larry Halpin, phoned me up and asked me to cover the 1983 British Open in Derby and from then on my housemate was right, I did get to do a bit of travel!
Extraordinary!
