I made my Wimbledon debut at 59
A passion for watching tennis prompted William Coles to train as a linesman in his 50s.
William Coles
A passion for watching tennis prompted William Coles to train as a linesman in his 50s.
Two years ago, I had one of the luckiest breaks of my life: I was invited to be a Wimbledon line umpire. I was 59 years old and it was my first outing as a linesman at the world’s greatest tennis tournament.
It was also to be my last. Because a year later, in 2025, all of the line umpires were replaced by robots. I was quite literally Wimbledon’s last linesman.
This extraordinary experience all started by chance. About five years ago, I was watching Wimbledon on TV and said to my wife, “Wouldn’t it great to be a Wimbledon linesman?” Margot made the obligatory spousal reply: “Oh, you do talk such a load of hot air!”
So, then and there I got in touch with the Lawn Tennis Association, saying how keen I was to become an official. And, just few months later, I was invited to do the one-day LTA course in St Andrews.
We learned about the technique of calling the lines, as well as lots of other details about the responsibilities on court. It was a steep learning curve.
I graduated with my tennis umpire licence, grade L4 and, after I’d bought my kit – creamy chinos and various blue LTA tops – was allowed to cover the lines in amateur tournaments.
My first experience was in Glasgow in January 2023. I had not felt so nervous in a long time. I confess, my fledgling line calling was exceedingly iffy and, initially, I didn’t have a clue where I was supposed to be standing.
But the camaraderie with the other umpires was brilliant from the word go. Generally, you get an hour on court and an hour off, and this is the time when you chew the fat with the other umpires. It doesn’t matter how much of a big (or small) cheese you are in your other life, when you’re in the officials’ room, the only thing that counts is the quality of your tennis chat.
There’s always great banter about the characters on the courts, and players who’ve been giving officials back-chat. If anyone’s made a howler – like calling “Out!” before a ball has touched the ground – there’s affectionate teasing. But there’s always support, too, if an umpire has been having a tough time, and a feeling of being part of a team.
After a few months, I did the day-long chair umpire course, which meant I was now qualified to be the lead umpire for amateur matches. This is not easy, as you often have to make line decisions by yourself.
One of my first matches was a boys’ doubles event in Bournemouth. They were all ten years old but ruthlessly chewed me up over some of my calls.
Meanwhile, I was also line calling at professional tournaments. And again, I had to get used to a lot of aggro from the players. One 18-year-old pro labelled my line calls: “Terrible!”, yelling in a style reminiscent of a young John McEnroe: “And you’ve only got one job to do!”
But, unless we have been asked a direct question, line umpires are not allowed to say a thing. It’s part of the job to stay as mute and inscrutable as Easter Island statues.
I knew before I started this journey that Wimbledon was soon going to ditch its line umpires, so volunteered at every tournament going to build up my experience as quickly as possible in the hope of making the grade to work there. I put in well over 50 days, travelling everywhere from Aldershot and Grantham to Sunderland, Nottingham and Ilkley.
The bigger tournaments offer up to £150 for travel, £80 per day for a hotel and £40 daily line calling, so this was never about the money – it was always about my big dream. And, in spring 2024, I got the call to be a Wimbledon linesman. I felt euphoric.
In June, I made the trip to Ralph Lauren on New Bond Street to be kitted out with £3,000 worth of the most gorgeous uniform imaginable. My favourite bit was the V-neck jumper in Wimbledon’s green and purple colours.
And then, the tournament itself. It was the most extraordinary feeling stepping out on the hallowed grass for the first time. I had one surreal day on Court 18 with a baying mob of more than 1,500 spectators and the young American Ben Shelton serving 135mph balls – seemingly straight at my head.
The Wimbledon linesmen have now been replaced by robots as well as a few match assistants who open the cans of balls and escort players to the toilets. But, though my time at Wimbledon may have been short-lived, I have fallen in love with officiating at tournaments both big and small, professional and amateur, and will continue to volunteer as often as possible.
The fun and friendship I’ve found in the umpires room is irreplaceable. And sometimes when I’m on court, my eyes focused on the line, I exhale as I watch the ball flying through the air and have an extraordinary feeling of hope and happiness. Much like the players who will soon be gracing Centre Court.
Wimbledon Rogue by William Coles (The Book Social, RRP £9.99), out 12 June.
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