Alan Dixon: Game, set and match

Jumping for joy: My dad is second from the left 

I have my father to thank for my love of tennis. He and my mum met at a tennis club and my earliest memories are of trips to the grass courts at Temple Newsam in Leeds. I have only to catch a whiff of warm wood and creosote to be whisked straight back to my childhood with my brother  Peter in the pavilion waiting for the tennis club tea to begin.

As soon as we were old enough to hold a racket my brother and I were on court ourselves, learning to play under the supervision of my dad or the club coach and it wasn't long before a family four became the preferred way to spend a Saturday or Sunday or a summer evening during the week.

We moved house several times and wherever we went we joined a club making friends and playing lots of club tennis. My dad was a fantastic player who usually played in the team - sometimes belonging to more than one club so he could play more matches. As a Yorkshireman he wasn't known for his extravagance, but when it came to tennis kit he was happy to shop - if it was for tennis I could have it and he would buy us tennis rackets and tennis whites (and it always was white in those days) so we always looked the part. 

He would have so loved me to excel, but I lacked his competitive spirit - I knew how to play and had every opportunity to do so, but I didn't really care whether I won or lost and my wins mostly came when I was playing in the team with my brother who had inherited my dad's determination or of course in a family four where, with dad on my side, I was pretty much guaranteed a victory.

Dad was fiercely competitive and raced around the court. As he got older the years of pounding hard courts in Dunlop Green Flash took a toll on his knees so he wore two knee bandages - lulling his opponents into a false sense of security. He developed a new, crafty style of drop shots and carefully placed lobs, getting his opponent out of place before going in for the kill.

Eventually my mum banned him from playing - fearful he would drop dead of a heart attack rather than lose a game and he took up the more sedate sport of golf which he played with equal enthusiasm, but much less success. 

I never had anything like his success on court, but what I did inherit was a lifelong love of playing tennis. Nothing makes me happier or lifts my heart more. However bad things get a game of tennis is guaranteed to put a smile on my face.

My dad died on Monday at the age of 82, but he will always be with me on court - his voice in my head reminding me to call out the score before each serve so we don't lose track, shouting at me to cover the court or telling me to stand well back to receive serve. Indeed my consistency in serving - not especially powerful, but usually in - comes from his total intolerance of double faults and on the rare occasions when I do double fault I can hear the exasperated noise of disgust he would make and see him shaking his head.  

Whenever I want to remember him I can do no better than head for the courts - which means only one thing, more tennis. Nothing would have delighted him more.

Alan Dixon June 3 1933 - July 20 2015