Interview: Jo Durie on why Andy Murray must be sensible

Did the tennis stars of the future strum ?rackets in bedroom mirrors during teenaged dreaming of pop fame or were they only ever interested in their sport? A few got as far as releasing records on the side including John McEnroe together with Pat Cash (Led Zeppelin-style thrashing), Mats Wilander (Dylanesque emoting) and Ille Nastase with a ditty called Globetrotter Lover (as cheesy and sleazy as it sounds). And then there was Jo Durie.
Jo Durie, now 58 and a commentator, will be part of the BBC team covering Wimbledon. Picture: Jenny Goodall/ANL/ShutterstockJo Durie, now 58 and a commentator, will be part of the BBC team covering Wimbledon. Picture: Jenny Goodall/ANL/Shutterstock
Jo Durie, now 58 and a commentator, will be part of the BBC team covering Wimbledon. Picture: Jenny Goodall/ANL/Shutterstock

Well, then there wasn’t. Try as I might, I cannot find the former British No 1’s Wimbledon Lawns on the normally dependable YouTube or even locate the lyrics to imagine what this 1983 single which failed to burst into the Top 100 sounded like. If you have a copy you don’t want and you’re at Wimbledon next week, pop into the Press Centre and I’ll give you my journo’s voucher for a punnet of complimentary strawberries in return.

“Go on, Jo,” I say, “sing it to me.” “Oh gosh,” she says, “I’m not sure I remember how it goes. Something like ‘The Wimbledon lawns are as green as I’ve seen.’ Yes, that was the first line. And I would bet that ‘seen’ was there to rhyme with ‘… and cream’.” When the song was offered to her, Durie’s coach, Alan Jones, thought it was a great idea and would boost her image. Now, Dan Maskell was still commentating at Wimbledon and you imagine that some at the All-England Club would have taken a dim view of self-promotion.

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“I wasn’t very keen either – for the reason I can’t really sing,” laughs Durie. “But I was told: ‘Don’t worry, we’ve got these brilliant backing vocalists who can cover up any imperfections.’ The track went under the name of Jo Durie and the Rackets.

Jo Durie and Jeremy Bates celebrate after winning the mixed doubles final at Wimbledon in July 1987. Picture: Russell Cheyne/Getty ImagesJo Durie and Jeremy Bates celebrate after winning the mixed doubles final at Wimbledon in July 1987. Picture: Russell Cheyne/Getty Images
Jo Durie and Jeremy Bates celebrate after winning the mixed doubles final at Wimbledon in July 1987. Picture: Russell Cheyne/Getty Images

“It was a giggle and fun to see how the pop industry worked but I cringed when I heard my voice played back and I think most of the copies sold were bought by my mum. I never got near Top of the Pops – thank goodness – but Paul Daniels played a few seconds of the song on his game show Odd One Out and said it was No 3 in the chart of the all-time worst songs by a sportsperson. Just No 3? What an insult! Who on earth was ahead of me? Some dreadful footballers, I suppose… ”

Durie is a jolly woman of 58, a commentator herself these days, much amused by the contrasts between the sedate game she used to play and tennis now, and excited about Andy 
Murray bringing some Big Four dazzle to the doubles, though she does voice a note of caution over our superstar’s return to SW19.

“It’s fantastic that Andy is playing doubles and I wish more of the top men would,” she says. “If he does well in the men’s at Wimbledon then I’d imagine he’ll draw big crowds to his matches as the fans will be so pleased to have him back – and I’d love to see him play mixed as well. His search for a partner has been very funny. I loved that tweet from his gran from her 
back garden in Dunblane offering her services.

“It was great to see him winning and smiling again at Queen’s and I can imagine the relief of suddenly being pain-free because I’ve had both hips and both knees replaced. Remember those shots of him using his racket as a crutch and barely able to walk? That was awful to watch.

A teenage Jo Durie in action at Queens in 1976. Picture: Central Press/Getty ImagesA teenage Jo Durie in action at Queens in 1976. Picture: Central Press/Getty Images
A teenage Jo Durie in action at Queens in 1976. Picture: Central Press/Getty Images

“Tennis players put such enormous pressure on their joints. When I was having my first hip replacement the surgeon noticed how Andy was moving and predicted the same problems for him. I know the pain of not being able to bend over, not being able to tie your own shoelaces, so Andy will be happy and hopeful about what he can do with this metal hip of his.

“But he must be sensible about it. Tennis at the elite level is like a drug which you struggle to let go. You want to perform and compete because that buzz doesn’t exist anywhere else. The surgeon who carried out the last keyhole operation on my knees only did it if I agreed to retire after one more Wimbledon. I went out and played that tournament like it was my first with the same excitement and thrill.

“I played for four years more than I should have done, so I hope Andy thinks long and hard, and the people around him do the same, about where he goes from here. He’s talked about getting back to singles, which for a great athlete and great fighter like him, isn’t surprising. But he’s just had part of his body replaced. The load he’d place on it in singles would be enormous. I’d hate to see him cause lasting harm to himself.”

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Part of the BBC team covering Wimbledon, Durie at her peak was ranked No 5 in the world but couldn’t quite win a Grand Slam singles title, although there were two in the mixed. She hails from Bristol and is in the city’s sporting hall of fame alongside WG Grace, Robin Cousins and David Bryant. Her Wimbledon debut came in 1977, a notable year because that was when Virginia Wade finally lifted the Rosewater Dish, and the long-legged 16-year-old was her first-round victim.

Jo Durie in Melbourne ahead of the 2005 Australian Open with the late Elena Baltacha, who she coached. Picture: Clive Brunskill/Getty ImagesJo Durie in Melbourne ahead of the 2005 Australian Open with the late Elena Baltacha, who she coached. Picture: Clive Brunskill/Getty Images
Jo Durie in Melbourne ahead of the 2005 Australian Open with the late Elena Baltacha, who she coached. Picture: Clive Brunskill/Getty Images

“I remember that match like it was yesterday,” Durie says. “Two years before I’d gone on a school trip to Wimbledon and fantasised about what it would be like to play in front of packed stands and millions watching on TV. Suddenly I was doing it for real.

“I was excited and scared to death at the same time. I was a bag of nerves and yet couldn’t wait for the match to start. Ginny was in the top dressing room which was only for the 16 seeds while everyone else used what we called ‘the dungeon’, a gloomy little place down a flight of stairs. Any time someone from the dungeon beat a seed there was a big celebration there but sadly not that day. I played Ginny on Court 2 and she won in straight sets but I loved every minute. It was only of those matches where you went: ‘Oh, do we have to finish now? Couldn’t we play another set, please?’ But the crowd were very nice to me and at the net Ginny said: ‘Well done.’”

There’s quite a contrast between the sunny innocence of Durie’s Wimbledon debut and the slight chill in the air as she strove, and often struggled, to live up to the billing of Britain’s next great hope in whites. She admits: “Wimbledon was always wonderful to play, I’ll never say anything different, but there was a lot of pressure on me to win. I thought the press were quite harsh about me because I was following not just Ginny but also Sue Barker who’d won at Roland Garros [1976]. It was no use trying to treat Wimbledon as just another tournament – it wasn’t. My stomach churned more at Wimbledon and my heart raced faster. I really wanted to win but couldn’t quite do it.”

Her best Slam efforts in the singles came in 1983 when she reached the semi-finals of the US and French Opens. From that year you can find yellowing newspaper cuttings where she expresses the hope she might eventually hoist one of the great prizes, although Jones the coach interjects to warn that if it’s ever going to happen she’ll have to become more ruthless. “I think Jo is a lady in every meaning of the word,” he says, “and there is still a streak of conservatism within her that holds her back. She’s still a bit reluctant to get dirt on her knees.” There’s a rueful chuckle from Durie when I ask if the critique was fair. “Unfortunately, yes. Alan knew me too well.”

Then I read a quote from John Lloyd from the same non-vintage era in British tennis: “In our tradition we learn to settle for a good effort. We’re not supposed to get carried away by, or be obsessed with, winning. We say we admire winners but don’t really believe it.” Durie nods in agreement. “That was the culture with our traditional British reserve,” she says. “I mean, I did want to win but at my tennis club back in Bristol they would have thought badly of you if you went around being a 
big-head.”

Surveying the sport now Durie sees everyone – including the Brits – being more expressive, sometimes more show-offy, which is true of life in general. “Every player has a trademarked celebration if they win. ‘See how great I am!’ Then they go off and brag to the TV. I was brought up to have manners and remember my dad telling me that he honestly didn’t mind whether I won or lost but if he and my mum were going to scrape together enough money for me to play tennis then I had to promise I’d try my hardest. He said: ‘You must look your opponent in the eye, shake hands and tell them they’d played well. Then you both go up to the bar and the winner buys the loser an orange squash’!”

Durie’s best performance at Wimbledon came in ’84 when, after a thrilling victory over Steffi Graf, she was beaten in the quarter-finals by Hana Mandlikova. She was devastated, wondered if that would be her best chance – but there were the mitigating circumstances of an ongoing back complaint which almost ended her career before it properly got going.

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“When I was 20 I needed a huge operation. Nerves were blocked and I couldn’t feel my legs but I had to go round a few surgeons before I found one who would do the op as there was a fear it might cause more harm than good. The third doctor I saw said he wasn’t sure I’d be able to play tennis again but at least he might get rid of the awful pain and I’d have a ‘better life’. There was no way I wasn’t playing tennis!”

A nice piece of description about Durie from the old days had it that she possessed “the sort of legs you have to fold in four to fit into a Mini”. Well, on car journeys as her back continued to play up she was occasionally required to lie along the rear seat.

The reports from ’85 talk of Durie struggling with injuries but also an unnamed “tragedy”. This was the death of her father John, found at the foot of a cliff in the Avon Gorge the previous autumn. “That was a terrible, terrible time,” she says. “My dad wasn’t a pushy parent, nothing like, but he was always there for me. He’d come to my matches as a kid, chat to the other parents and was always sure to buy me an ice cream. He suffered from epilepsy and latterly a tumor meant he couldn’t think clearly. It was horrible to see.

“I’m a very private person and so didn’t talk about what happened to him but he was a lovely dad and I was devastated when he died. As we’ve been saying we’re in a different time now. Possibly this would be a big story today so again I’m grateful for having played when I did. Friends and family – I have three brothers – helped me get through it, as did Alan who’s always been a rock.”

Although Durie also achieved wins against Tracy Austin, Pam Shriver and Mandlikova in her career, she found Martina Navratilova and Chris Evert just too tough to crack. “Chris was my Nemesis. I hated playing her more than anyone. She just got in my head and I don’t think ever managed to take a set off her.” But Durie seemed to get under Navratilova’s skin. “Martina didn’t like it if she thought you were close to beating her. In the quarter-finals of the [’83] Australian Open I was a set up when rain forced us off. It was late and there was going to be no more play until the next day but she barged past me to go back on to the court to practise her serve.”

Durie’s titles in the mixed, at Wimbledon in 1987 and in Oz four years later, came alongside fellow Brit 
Jeremy Bates. “We had great fun together. During matches we talked about everything: nice meals we’d had, how our golf was going. The night before the Wimbledon final 
Jeremy was going to a wedding. ‘Please don’t have too much of a hangover,’ I said. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be fine,’ he said, and he was.”

Durie went into coaching with Jones after she quit playing and the pair still work together now. She coached Elena Baltacha and has fond memories of the Ukranian-born, Scots-raised player who died in 2014 of liver cancer. “We were in Doha, walking from the court to the hotel, and it was prayer day. Bally was wearing shorts and a skimpy top which didn’t go down too well with the men filing out of the mosques. They growled and spat at her. I just said: ‘Bally, run!’ She was a wonderful person, so funny and so determined, and it’s so sad she’s gone.”

It was Baltacha who tipped off Durie about the young, wild-haired Murray. “She said: ‘You’ve got to see this kid – come with me to Glasgow and watch him play.’ He was 15 and I just thought: ‘Wow.’ He was special. Could he really win Wimbledon one day? His game was brilliant but a champion needs other things like temperament and courage. At 15 it’s hard to predict what a player’s character will be and certainly he was going to have to work on his temperament because he was exceedingly grumpy that day, throwing his racket everywhere.

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“But a champion is what he became. When Andy won Wimbledon I was playing golf, checking the score every minute on my phone. I didn’t really think a Brit was ever going to lift that trophy. In the last game I thought about the nerves he must have been suffering, and the history of the achievement weighing down on him. I wondered what I would have been like in that situation. Hopefully I would have got my knees dirty!”

l Wimbledon 2019 will be on BBC TV, radio and online from 1 July.

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