Roland Garros 1967: Françoise Durr defeats Lesley Turner
From Game, set and deadline by Rex Bellamy:
French tennis will long remember this sweltering Sunday afternoon. At 4.20 the crowded centre court of the Stade Roland Garros – its four vast banks ablaze with colour, like giant flower-beds – almost bust asunder with noise and movement. France was saluting its first women’s singles champion since Nelly Landry (French by marriage) in 1948 and its first French-born winner since Simone Mathieu in 1939.
The new national heroine is Françoise Durr, born at Oran, Algeria, on Christmas Day, 1942. Already she had dismissed Maria Bueno (Brazil), the United States champion. Today she beat Lesley Turner (Australia), the Italian champion, by 4-6 6-3 6-4 in an arduously close match that lasted for an hour and 35 minutes.
Miss Durr‘s triumph was a smack in the eyes for the purists, a vindication of all those who claim that character is more important than talent, and a sharp rebuttal of the silly old cliché that nice guys – or nice girls – finish last.
Miss Durr’s sunglasses and her pink hair-ribbon are distinctive but not elegant. The same applies to her grip and her strokes: especially the sliced backhand that often takes her down on one knee. What binds all the pecularities together and makes her such a bonny competitor on hard courts is her ball control, the result of painstaking hard work, and the unfailingly sharp wits that command her tactics. She knows where the ball needs to go for maximum effect: and she has the control to put it there.
The crowd’s collective heart was at one with Miss Durr’s. Even while rallies were in progress, there were shrieks of joy o gasps of horror. How she had to fight! At 6-4 and 2-all Miss Turner looked well on the way to regaining a title she had won twice before. In the third set, marred by the distraction of controversial line calls, she came within two points of leading 5-2. But Miss Durr caught her, then pressed an attack on Miss Turner’s backhand. This squeezed out a last, decisive error, at which Miss Durr flung her racket so high that it might have brained her on the way down.