ng match was the final last year at
Wimbledon. In every player's heart there must be a faint hope that one
day she may win the All England Championship. At least it has always
been in mine.

From Christmas and all through the spring my family and friends had
dinned into my ears that now was my chance, and if I did not win this
year I never would. Only when I was leading one set up and 2-love in the
second did all these things flash across my mind. I suddenly got
nervous. Oh, the misery of it! I served double fault after double fault
(I learnt afterwards that I gave away sixteen points in this way), and
my friends told me that it was a relief to them when my service went
over the net at all, however slowly. My opponent, Miss Morton, caught
up, won the set 6/4, and led me 4/2 in the final set. All this time I
had been fighting hard to regain confidence. At last my nerve came
back--I was determined to win, and, only after a very great effort, just
succeeded in capturing the Championship with the narrow margin of 8/6 in
the final set.

It was not until I had finished and had come off the court that I
realized how very excited I had been, and how relieved I was when it was
all over. Only those who have had experience can know how exhausting it
is to concentrate one's whole thoughts and efforts, without cessation,
for an hour or more. Fortunately you do not feel the strain until
afterwards, when it does not matter, and then you can look back with
very great pleasure and satisfaction on a hard-won fight.

[Signature: Dora P. Boothby.]

MRS. LARCOMBE

(_Doubles Champion_, 1903, 1904; _Mixed Doubles Champion_, 1904, 1905)

My "most memorable match" was in the All England Mixed Doubles
Championship at Liverpool in 1904. Mr. S.H. Smith and I were playing
Miss Wilson and Mr. A.W. Gore, and we had a great struggle for victory.
I do not remember the exact score, but at one time our opponents were
within an ace of the match. Miss Wilson served to me in the left
court--a good service out on the side line. I played a straight
back-hand shot down the line, passing Mr. Gore's forehand--rather a
desperate stroke, as if it failed to pass him it meant certain death
from one of his straight-arm volleys. Perhaps he was not guarding his
line so well as usual, under the impression that I would not have the
courage to try to pass him at such a critical moment--anyway, we won the
point; and eventually the match and the championship, bea