Recovery of the tournament so far? That would be Lleyton Hewitt yesterday, surely. Having dumped the first two sets in a strangely shapeless performance against Radek Stepanek, of the Czech Republic, the Australian was looking down the wrong end of a barbecue skewer.

The handy combination of a medical time-out and a short rain break, though, enabled him to return to the blistering form he showed last week and arrive in the quarter-finals, 4-6, 2-6, 6-1, 6-2, 6-2.

But let’s pause for a moment to honour the part played in this transformative miracle by Hewitt’s fans, who, with their dress, enthusiasm and noise, brought something distinctly and persuasively . . . well . . . Australian to the occasion.

Beach shorts? Check. Headbands in national colours? Of course. Zinc sunblock? It goes without saying. Inflatable kangaroo? Is the outback hot? Yesterday in particular, the atmosphere on No 2 Court was lifted to new heights by a choir of 20 in matching yellow T-shirts, who had stationed themselves in the front two rows, with their noses on the net cord.

Their uplifting and always timely repertoire ranged from classics, such as “Here We Go, Here We Go, Here We Go” and “Super, Super Lley” to farther flung items such as (a moving tribute to the late Michael Jackson, this) the opening bars of Can You Feel It? They gave us “If You All Love Lleyton (Clap Your Hands)”, “Let’s Go, Lleyton, Let’s Go” and the “Come on, Come on” section from the 1970s smash I'm The Leader Of The Gang (I Am!). (It must be some time since the spirit of Gary Glitter was evoked in the region of these magnificent lawns.)

We also got “Walking in a Hewitt Wonderland”, “Stand Up If You Love Lleyton”, and, in another pioneering moment for grand-slam tennis, an a capella version of the guitar riff from Survivor’s Eye of the Tiger, accompanied by (it goes without saying) punching motions.

All in all, they made themselves (and, presumably, Hewitt, if not Stepanek) feel very much at home. Then again, what Wimbledon’s new No 2 Court already has in common with Australia is that you have to go halfway round the world to get there. It’s over by the perimeter fencing, at the end of a long string of rarely travelled passageways, and near the exit for the rubbish. This makes it one of those rare courts on which play is occasionally interrupted by the sound of bottles being emptied into a skip — an ominous soundtrack when you’re two sets down.

But Hewitt came back after the rain break and polished off the third set, sponsoring a chorus of “3-2 — we’re gonna win 3-2”. He then returned Stepanek’s opening serve of the fourth set with a forehand so powerful that it practically tore the side line out of the ground, and moments later he was a break ahead there, too.

When this lead increased to two breaks, the courtside choir’s excitement was such that they required attention from two members of the All England Club’s stewarding operation, who seemed to be reminding them, in the nicest manner possible, that this wasn’t, in fact, Melbourne, and that, if their noise grew any more distracting, they might well find themselves going the way of the bottles in the wheelie bins.

A period of more sober reflection followed, broken only by some measured, individual cries of “Keep it going, Lleyton” and “Lovin’ it, big fella, lovin’ it”. Then it was Stepanek’s turn to need the trainer. He had his left thigh squeezed into a thick strapping and promptly went a break behind in the opening game of the deciding set. In total, he would win only five further games after the rain, his confidence deserting him in the face of Hewitt’s amazing determination.

“We said we’d win 3-2,” sang the choir. Small wonder Hewitt ran across to them afterwards to distribute a fistful of sweat bands as a token of his thanks. We should also report that the victory went down very well with the locals, who rather warm to Lleyton. Besides, in an Ashes summer, one could hardly have taken any pleasure in seeing an Australian crushed.