Hurlingham is cradle to grave. Children take their first tennis lessons here, sneak their first kisses behind the hedges, attend teenage discos and, eventually, marry on the lawns. Hons have had their 21st here; others have had entire lives. There is bridge, backgammon, art club, swimming galas, pickleball, croquet (you can’t play that at Queen’s: a fact deployed with quiet triumph), and an outdoor pool that, in summer, makes it feel like a Cotswolds manor. Some youngsters aren’t convinced: ‘I’ve only been for family lunches, it’s all a bit stuffy… and the pool is grimy,’ says one 21-year-old.
For all its exclusivity, it retains a kind of unshowy charm. The car park is not full of gleaming Rolls-Royces but of old Polos. Roman Abramovich once attempted to buy the entire enterprise for £1 billion, offering members £1 million apiece to step aside. He was, quite rightly, rebuffed.
Back at Queen’s, even the socialising feels structured: a drink, a lunch, a departure. You come, you play, you leave. At Hurlingham, matches dissolve into afternoons, afternoons into evenings, evenings into late-night barbecues under strings of lights. There are reciprocal clubs in Singapore, Hong Kong, New York, Sydney… Home away from Hurlingham.
Of course, there is crossover. Teams play each other annually; loyalties blur at the edges. Some frequent both, offering verdicts over Peroni and chicken Milanese. Others remain staunchly partisan. ‘Queen’s feels more bougie,’ one notes, with a raised eyebrow. Another, not a member of either, but of the Camden Hill Club, confesses a preference for ‘French accents and half pints,’ before adding – rather cattily – that Queen’s members are ‘just too happy to be members.’ Jealousy? Almost certainly.
So where does that leave the discerning Tatler reader? If you want perfect grass, punishing rallies and a shower experience bordering on the transcendental, Queen’s is your court. If you want something for the family – something that stretches from childhood to old age, from first serve to final spritz – Hurlingham awaits, all wisteria and socialising. Although there is no guarantee of any membership, for either, forever…
Fret not, you could do what the clever set does: hover between the two. After all, in London, the real sport isn’t tennis. It’s choosing where to play it – and finding the access to do just that.