Cleaning the loos at Wimbledon
Graham Little’s first job was as a lavatory attendant at Wimbledon – and he loved it
The return of the Wimbledon Championships this year restores a much-loved fixture of our summer calendar – and delivers an injection of nostalgia for the greatest job I ever had.
In 2000, after graduating from Loughborough University, I rewarded my parents’ investment by beginning my working life – as a toilet attendant. The job provided me with an important lesson. The lowliest role affords the greatest opportunities.
All attendants were allocated one toilet each. I was selected (hand-picked, I liked to think) to attend the male toilets under Court No 1, probably the busiest at the Championships. They are directly underneath what was then called Henman Hill, where thousands of spectators without court seats gather to drink Pimm’s and rattle their jewellery when British players appear on the big screen.
By the evening these bogs become more like the ones at Glastonbury – so this was a potentially disastrous appointment. But the infamy of the Court No 1 facilities meant the chief toilet attendant appointed a 16-year-old local lad to help me. Billy was delighted just to be there and trustingly accepted the shifts timetable I drew up. My cistern-watching system was divided a tad unevenly, giving me plenty of time to explore the grounds and even watch entire matches without the inconvenience of attending the conveniences.
During my lengthy ‘breaks’, I made a startling and joyous discovery. It turned out that my toilet-attendant pass did not indicate which toilet I was supposed to be attending. So anywhere there was a toilet that might need attending I was admitted. I spent my days idly wandering the courts and corridors, exploiting the pity of the stewards who were happy to escort this lowly bog-cleaner to free seats at any matches that took my fancy.
My friend Jenks had been handed responsibility for the Centre Court changing rooms and the beautiful, ornate toilet next to the Royal Box. Every day, he had the cheek to leave a pound coin on a saucer beside the sink in the Royal toilet. And, every day, the Royal Family or one of their entourage had the even greater cheek to remove it.
Jenks and I ran a lucrative sideline in chilled drinks from the changing rooms, which we swapped with the courtcoverers for used Championship towels and snacks from the players’ cool boxes. We also traded valuable insider information – like where to find the best free meals and punnets of strawberries and cream.
There were also toilets next to the kitchens of the All England Club where five-star food was prepared each day. Kitchen hands were generous in sharing this abundant bounty. The irony of cleaning toilets, while stuffed to the gills with oysters, olives and strawberries, never failed to amuse me.
In the second week of the Championships, I took on the role of early-morning office-cleaner, starting work at 5.30am. Had it involved cleaning just offices, this would have been another doddle. Unfortunately, cleaning the café used by the ball boys and girls was on our duty list. They were absurdly, disgustingly messy, leaving food smeared all over the walls and rubbish all around the bins but never actually in them.
We were supposed to clean the offices until nine, which would’ve left me half an hour’s break before I started the toilet shifts. But whizzing around the corridors in double-quick time meant we usually finished around seven, which afforded a couple of glorious hours to sleep in the Centre Court baths.
I would swagger confidently through the large doors of Wimbledon HQ and then arrange towels and jumpers from the store cupboard as bedclothes in a bathtub. An alarm clock in the soap dish woke me in time for a leisurely shower, with the Championship toiletries to freshen me up, before the arduous day of toilet-attending that lay ahead.
It couldn’t last. Senior Royals were attending on Ladies’ Finals Day and police teams were carrying out bomb inspections from early morning. They found these checks impeded by a locked bathroom door. Their hammering on the door was answered by the swearing of this Northern Irishman, rudely awoken from a blissful sleep.
Needless to say, that was the end of the Centre Court snoozes as erroneous reports of toilet attendants spending the whole night in the men’s changing rooms spread around the security departments.
All too soon, the Championships were over and that year’s toilet attendants slipped quietly away around the U-bend of SW19. Watching the Pete Sampras-pat Rafter final from the BBC commentary box (there are toilets on that corridor, too), I lamented the passing of my first Wimbledon, realising it could never be repeated in such style.
No matter how many times I go back, never again will I sleep in the Centre Court changing rooms. Never again will I sit in the courtside stewards’ seats. Never again will I feast in the All England Club and, thankfully, never, ever again will I clean the ball-boys’ café.
The 2021 Wimbledon Championships are on from 28th June to 11th July