They are huge matches – Andy Roddick in today's semi-finals followed, presumably, by the great Roger Federer in the final. But the way Murray is playing, neither contest is beyond his grasp.

Already comparisons are being drawn with Perry, the last British player to win Wimbledon in 1936 and what a fascinating contrast it makes: Murray, the dour young Scot who has dedicated his life to becoming a tennis champion; Perry the product of a working class household in Stockport who went on to rule tennis and court Hollywood actresses.

Perry died in Melbourne in 1985 at the age of 85. A heart attack two years earlier was followed by circulation problems which led to a toe being amputated and subsequently a triple heart by-pass accompanied by a new valve and a pacemaker.

He always fought back: pipe clenched between his teeth, a glint in his eye and never short of an astute observation on the game he loved. A fall in which he broke four ribs finally crushed his will to survive as he went into a terminal decline.

I never saw Fred play but, on a personal level, I remember him driving me from a tournament at Billingham to the Wetherby turnpike after my car broke down.

One summer, he put himself out to be interviewed at length about the state of tennis after a tiring flight from his place in Florida.

In 1987, the Lawn Tennis Writers' Association, of which I was chairman at the time, presented Perry with its annual award.

There was one snag. Commitments in the United States meant that he could not travel to London to receive the accolade.

An evening without its chief guest could have been a colossal disappointment but Fred sent a taped message which was played over the PA system. Although he was several thousand miles away, his familiar, mid-Atlantic tones reduced a boisterous audience to almost reverential silence.

He was a wonderful communicator and a natural broadcaster whose skills I came to appreciate after sharing the same radio booth on one or two occasions.

You might not agree with everything he said, but you listened . . . with respect.

Britain has not had a player to equal him since his hat-trick of Wimbledon singles titles between 1934-36 and the four British Davis Cup triumphs (1933-36) which accompanied his dominance.

The shadow of his achievements has loomed over his successors in British tennis ever since that halcyon era.

Perry won the world table tennis title in 1929 and Jon Henderson's absorbing new biography, The Last Champion, records how the game left an imprint on his tennis.

The legendary forehand taken early on the rise, the sliced backhand, even holding the racket in one hand as he prepared to receive service could all be related to table tennis.

His service was an orthodox slice designed to start a rally rather than end it.

But he was supremely fit and imbued with sheer, unyielding determination.

His tactical philosophy was based on the simple premise of never giving an opponent anything he liked – "and I made sure I knew what he liked."

It is this burning desire to win which is immediately comparable to Andy Murray.

The 22-year-old Scot hates to lose at anything be it board games or keepy-uppy. On a tennis court, no ball is unpursued.

If he misses what he regards as an easy shot, he gives himself a savage ticking off.

Unlike Perry, who never had a coach but took advice from AR (Pop) Summers and his friend Dan Maskell, Murray has a training entourage and off court is guided by the 19 Entertainment management company. The whole package has produced a fitter competitor, a more amenable public image and, most importantly, a tournament winner.

Andy Murray went into Wimbledon knowing he had a good chance of capturing the title.

He has a complete, well-rounded game built on a fine service and an ability to absorb everything an opponent can direct at him while waiting his own chance to pounce.

I never tire of recalling Fred Perry's dictum of what attributes a tennis player needed to become a champion.

"Talent, purpose and a bit of luck in the right place at the right time," he said.

"But you can't manufacture champions. It's the player who wants it badly enough who comes through."

Fred wanted it badly enough, and came through brilliantly and unforgettably. Is Andy Murray cast in the same mould? All is about to be revealed.