Forty-two boys and girls stand like sentries in staggered formation on a tennis court. Each of them is numbered and all of them are sweating from the strain of another day’s training. Their feet are shoulder width apart, hands clasped behind their backs, shoulders straight, chests out. Every one of them is still, silent and ready for inspection. Ten seconds ago they were running on the spot; a minute before that they were leaping into the air. Up and down and back up again. All the while their superiors have been watching, judging and yelling with clipboards in hand. “Jump higher! Sprint faster! Stand straighter!”

These are the chosen few who, assuming they continue to pass inspection, will represent Britain as ballboys and ballgirls at the Wimbledon Championships. Everything at the All England Lawn Tennis and Croquet Club is carried out with the utmost attention to detail, ensuring the sport’s most revered Grand Slam is fit for a queen. And not just any queen, but the Queen of England, who has, on rare occasion, made the 30-minute ride by Rolls-Royce from her palace in central London to the gates of the club. And though it’s a poorly kept secret that Her Majesty doesn’t really care for the game, the 375 full-time members of this club (many of them old, grey and bent diagonal over walking sticks) demand that their Championships still carry the appropriate degree of regality. So they drill their ballboys and ballgirls as if readying them to stand guard outside Buckingham Palace.