Johanna Konta moves through to the last 16 of the Wimbledon ladies semi final.

Johanna Konta moves through to the last 16 of the Wimbledon ladies semi final.

The mind kept drifting back to that day in 1977 when the lady in the mauve cardigan curtseyed before the Queen and Britain basked in its first ladies Wimbledon's single winner. She had thick black hair, an ever so demure manner and her name was Virginia Wade. On one of those beautifully triumphant afternoons for British sport, Wade beat her Dutch opponent Betty Stove and a nation celebrated not only the Queen's Silver Jubilee but a British sporting heroine who could hardly believe the remarkable magnitude of her achievement.

Yesterday, Johanna Konta began her journey to the summit of another ladies victory at Wimbledon with a temporarily awkward win over American Sloane Stephens 0-3, 6-4, 6-1. For those who were spellbound by the emergence of a female British tennis player who could actually win this most highly prized of tournaments then this may have come as little surprise. But then surely it's about time that Britain produced a woman with the guts, the red blooded tenacity and the sheer will to win that overcomes all the odds particularly when the girl has a famous grand father in her family.

Konta, as has been widely reported, is related to the great Hungarian football maestro Ferenc Puskas, one of that magically resplendent team who routed England at the old Wembley in 1953. But Johanna Konta slowly but surely ground down Stephens after struggling briefly in both the first and second sets. It was the kind of uplifting performance that British sport could do with on a more frequent basis because they don't seem to come around that often.

But she is the very epitome of the up and coming tennis player. There is something very driven, fiercely competitive and determined to get her own way about her.  In one or two incidents we were given a fascinating glimpse into the Konta character. She is tall, gangling, impressively athletic and startlingly spring heeled. All of the mannerisms were there; the almost perpetual fist pumping, the intermittent knee bending, the private quest for greater effort, the self criticism, the self reproach, the irritation at the first sign of imperfection and that grouchy, grumpy, irascible cry for help aimed at her coach.

And yet Konta has exactly the right temperament to become the poster girl for British tennis. She has everything that we may look for in a potential Wimbledon champion. There is that natural intelligence about her, a suppleness and litheness in those fleet of feet that only the best can conjure up.  There is something of the Virginia Wade about her in as much that she can move around Centre Court so quickly that by the time her opponent has returned her first serve, Konta has shuffled across the baseline with lightning speed. Konta does seem to be the genuine article but none of us can be sure when her day will come.

The Konta first service is rather like watching a wind up doll, heels lifting up from the ground with superb agility. Then there is the wide stance, ball almost deliberately bounced with careful calculation. We are now treated to that very angular serve, shoulders easing herself into position and finally that explosive swing of the racket as she throws the whole of her body into that vital first serve.

After a first and second set of gripping unpredictability, both women engaged in a superb battle of wills and wits, whipped forehands soaring deep into the baseline, the ball flying over the net like a missile that doesn't quite know where it might land. Firstly, Stephens executed drop shots of the most enchanting delicacy and drilled forehand returns that went whistling down both tramlines at the rate of knots.

Stephens though seemed to run away with the first set 6-3 and the Wimbledon crowd were deeply restless. Konta was beginning to get rather flustered with not only herself but annoyed with a machine that seemed to be making far too much noise for her liking. Something wasn't working for her, the booming serves never landing in the strategic places she was hoping for. So she persevered and grew into the match, punching out double fisted forehands and backhands with all the sinewy strength she could muster. At some point the match ball seemed to have a mind of its own.

Then the match quite perfectly seemed to gravitate in Konta's favour. The British girl suddenly began to see the flight of the ball much more clearly and it wasn't long before the third set became too much for  Konta's American opponent. Konta was now hitting the ball with almost medieval savagery. Before long it was Konta who was slicing and fading her shots with all the cunning of the stage conjuror.

Finally Konta stormed her way through the third set, rattling off six points with the minimum fuss. Your heart goes out to the defeated in sport because you can never tell what might be going through their mind. Sloane Stephens will inevitably have her day in the sun and so will Johanna Konta. We must hope that Britain will one day provide us with another Virginia Wade moment because at the moment there is nothing to show for brave and wholesome  talent. A mauve cardigan is perhaps all that's needed.