McCreadyandChess

At first sight the ploughman’s task seems to be one which ought rightly to be set only to some well-balanced philosopher, who could calmly descend into himself during the many lonely hours and think of nature and man in orderly thoughts. To the ordinary man, with his drug-habit of taking to reverie during any long spell of solitude, such a task would seem fatal. In fact, it is pretty certain that many a plain fellow must be turned into a fool by the immense monotony of similar furrows and the same view repeated exactly every quarter of an hour. When he is still a boy, he goes about even in the four hours’ darkness of the winter mornings with always a song amidst the sleet or the silent frost. At lunch he can look for nests or nuts or hunt a stoat. Edward Thomas, The Heart of England, Part Two The Lowland, Chapter 2 Faunus, London J. M. Dent & Co. 1909

The road taken and the road not taken…

I couldn’t have known at the time, of course, because nothing loomed large in the future, only in the past it did, but Wednesday March 29th 1995 was indeed a day not to be forgotten.

For a Spring morning the weather was nothing untowards, no not at all. No rain, no wind, no hail. Below some light cloud that feint sunshine pierced, a local train, where a future friend sat, halted in Luton and I got on. He’d come from London and went past Hertfordshire into Bedfordshire unbeknownst to himself, so stayed on the train that had reached its end before heading back to London. Mario Nicolaou was his name, I was the one who explained he had already gone past his stop when he asked where we were. Rather approachable he was and some small talk was had. Then as the train left the station and left the town some five or so minutes after, the countryside stretched over the widening River Lea and the grasslands it bent beyond. Harpenden and St. Albans came and went, then at Radlett off we stepped in search of a bus that took us to a university campus hidden in the countryside, not much past 10 am still. It came soon and up a long hill where country folk were housed far back from the road before it left us behind and further still towards Aldenham, a quaint rustic village where the bus turned off and dropped us nearby, along with a collective of students and their book bags headed towards their halls and their lectures.

It was an Open Day for whoever had their application accepted, home to undergraduates who studied for an Arts Degree only at Hertfordshire University, and some post-graduates too I suppose, all lectured within a 19th century Grade 2 listed building named Wall Hall, it’s accompanying gardens as impressive as they were pastoral when the weather was kind to all grazing in the farmland yonder.

The day itself was timetabled for they offered a modular degree in which you could then specialize in beyond the first year. We were all invited to sit in the largest of the rooms on the ground floor. It had bay windows, wooden panelling and a large stone fireplace that resembled a portcullis. Various heads of departments came and went to promote their courses, and of course, some hours were spent listening to them whilst taking tea and biscuits. History I recall too little of to mention except that in the second semester I took a module on the Industrial Revolution in England taught by him presenting, linguistics I found thoroughly unappealing, literature and its Marxist interpretation of what that was I found unpersuasive, my mind already settled on studying Philosophy, which I warmed to with the little sun that fell through the windows at back of the room where the sagacious lecturer stood as he foretold what we would study with those under him that long afternoon.

After the presentation, freshmen provided a guided tour of the campus with us all being split up into groups. Mine was orchestrated by a chap from Peterborough named Paul. He showed us around and his room also. There, I asked if I could see one of his essays, which imprinted something on me I still use today; that being how to indent ‘,then,’ stylistically in writing as so,¹ and that I really ought to start improving my writing.

A jolly good day ended late afternoon and there was I in a bit of a rush all of a sudden. I had a match in the Bedfordshire County Championships that evening against future county champion Paul Kendall, rated 168 that season but usually rated around 180-190 (abouts ELO 2090), which if I recall correctly, due to the type of board and set used, took place in Leighton Buzzard. My mind was elsewhere and had been all day, it really was, thus the game was rather peculiar. It may have been the case that Paul assumed victory was forthcoming before play began for he played an innocous sideline against my French Defence (1. e4 e6 2. b3) a double edged position arose as we castled on opposite sides of the board, me kingside and him queenside but that left him with no real attack and me much easy play. He allowed checkmate on move 25 with both of us playing as if it were a blitz game. All relatively meaningless, the result was of no importance but the manner of it was suggestive however. I was already doing well in the county championships and that result put me into second if I recall correctly, with only 1-2 rounds left. Paul was stronger than those I would normally beat but I was interested only on how the day went and where my life was going for I saw it all up front for the first time. I played chess that evening in a carefree indifferent mood and was elsewhere mentally but somehow I pulled it off and won easily. This put me in the reckoning for the title, much more prestigious than any before it but a combination of me believing it to be beyond my grasp and not coused on my most recent win in it at all, consigned it to nothing more than history post-haste.

A love of chess did indeed get me reading in my teens voraciously then continually, which lead to a love of literature in all its forms and guises thereafter, poetry especially. That began to foster in 1991 and by 1995 had already reached the point where I wanted to carry it on further as much as I could: exemplifying that reading habits had remained in place but its subject matter had broadened. Wednesday March 29th 1995 was a day where academia and chess began to diverge from one another; one representing the past, the other the future, which would be mapped out by it in my neighbouring county. ² With a waning interest, I would carry on playing chess for another two years before it was put on hiatus so that I could focus fully on academia. For years chess became the road not taken and that has made all the difference.

The Road Not Taken – Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

End

The rest, says old McCready, is history… .

‘There is little of wisdom in his words except moderation; but his garden is luckier, his kitchen sweeter than all the rest in the hamlet, and of all his tasks—ploughing, harrowing, rolling, drudging, reaping, mowing, carting faggots or corn or hay or green meat or dung—he likes none better than the others, because he likes them all well as they come. And ah! to see him and his team all dark and large and heroic against the sky, ploughing in the winter or the summer morning, or to see him grooming the radiant horses in their dim stable on a calm, delaying evening, is to see one who is in league with sun and wind and rain to make odours fume richly from the ancient altar, to keep the earth going in beauty and fruitfulness for still more years.‘ Edward Thomas, The Heart of England, Part Two The Lowland, Chapter 2 Faunus, London J. M. Dent & Co. 1909

1. I have temendously fond memories of Paul as he was such a great laugh and the amount of parties and drinking sessions down the student union bar with our many mutual friends cannot be counted. During the winter of my year as freshman he got into a snowball fight in his kitchen once. Jason, his opponent, ran out of snowballs and scuttered out to make some more. Paul thought he had gone and sat down at the table by where I was. Jason then stormed back in and pelted one right at him, going straight into the mouth whilst he was talking to me, which made him go ‘Aaaarrrggghhhh!’ with a look of disdain before chasing him out and carrying things on in the snow. He lived in the building just across from mine on the campus and he had 4 exchange students on his floor, one from Germany, another from Greece, one from Spain and another from America, they only had one toilet on their floor, as we all did, and I browned them all off in one party once by putting an empty wine bottle in the tank which made it difficult to flush! The American guy was called Mike Howard and was studying at the University of Wisconsin, in Eau Claire (He is the one fully responsible for getting me into American Football by insisting I watch games with him and supporting The Green Bay Packers with Brett Favre at quarterback, especially when they played the Minnesota Vikings). Paul loved playing pranks and did so to everyone on his floor by adjusting the embezzled dial at the top of the door to the kitchen, which determined how slowly or quickly it would close. Paul worked out that if you turned it in a certain direction fully, the door would take about 10 minutes to close and you had to push it very hard to force it to in order to speed it up. Mike came into the kitchen and Paul went and showed him what he had done and how you had to bust your balls to close it properly now, which being a fire door was funny to him. He then came up with a brainwave and did it to the door to Mike’s room whilst he was in the kitchen. When Mike went back to his room with his plate of food, all we heard from down the corridor was ‘Oh that’s really clever, show someone how to do a trick then pull it on them thinking they won’t know it was you!’
   
   I do have a picture of Paul, Mario, Jason and I all with our arms around each other in Paul’s kitchen during some party/drinking session that winter but I simply cannot post it, I really can’t. Let’s just say, clearly much drinking had already gone on and leave it there. SEE BELOW FOR UPDATE
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2. In Wall Hall Campus, I stayed at Room 6, Hall 6 Kennedy Court for one year 95 – 96 (it was called that because John. F. Kennedy used to stay in the large stately home before it became part of a university campus). I was so well read by then, I never made that much effort to study in my first year and found it all rather easy. So much so that I spent more time reading The Guardian newspaper and attending The Philosophy Society, of which I would become the President of the following year and attend dinners in St. Albans with many visiting lecturers, and of course, the student union bar both before and after lectures and at weekends also. I hung out and played football with the exchange students mostly, we drank together too, and went shopping around Hertfordshire, especially in St. Albans. For that reason, I joined them in my second year and also became an exchange student in Finland. I have lifelong friends from my first year at university and was more socially active than I had ever been. The most intelligent person I have ever met in my entire life was one of my lecturers also, a certain Prof. Daniel. D. Hutto. To this day I have never met one chess player with anything like the intellect he has. My family drove me and my possessions to the campus to help me move in, including a large book collection, with my mother and sister insisting on a guided tour that Autumn after I had settled in. Friends came to visit and have a look round also, Paul especially, I even took ex-girfriend Rachel there during her visit to England. I completed my degree by helping out at a conference for the Aristotelian Society and have nothing but pleasant memories of my time there. On my very last visit, I rolled up on my bicycle from Luton to collect my results: 2nd in the year in the Philosophy dept., and Upper 2.1 awarded, achieving 67.4%. I then put another 85kms on the bike by shooting off to Cambridge where I spent the summer, having already accepted an offer to commence with an MA at Warwick University that Autumn. ↩︎

WITH RELUCTANCE: HERE IS A PHOTO FROM THE XMAS PARTY 95

LEFT TO RIGHT ITS PAUL, MARIO, ME, JASON

Mark J McCready

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Didn’t the last game just say it all…

Never nothing more than your average club and county player, my chess playing days in my younger years weren’t much to be proud of. But that’s not the point, finding meaning in them is however. Before a long, long break, I played competitive chess from February 1988 to May 1997…and didn’t my last game of that particular epoch just say it all?

It was played in my home club Kent’s/Luton and was the last league game of the 96/97 season, played against Leighton Buzzard B team, we were positioned along the side of the dance floor between the bar and the entrance/exit for the match. I was part of the furniture back then and had been captain of B team and tournament organizer for 5 years already. Slowly but surely, I had lost almost all interest in everything chess related by 1997, and more importantly, was in my second year at university too. Giving up chess for once and for all to focus on my education felt logical and wise, and that’s what became my every intention. ‘Why’s that’ you ask? Off the record, it almost did at the beginning of that season because I sauntered off to Turku University, Finland (a.k.a Turun Yliopisto: Turun means Turku with the possessive form case ending, ylio means over, pisto means school), to study Logical Positivism and Plato in the unending rain and snow of that first semester, as part of the Erasmus exchange programme I had signed up for.

Presumably, I must have asked for someone to step in whilst I was away for when I returned, just days before Chistmas, I resumed responsibilites once more, and didn’t the last game of that season just say it all?

My opponent, who I knew well but cannot remember his name anymore, was rated around 150 and I was black. He was a well to do fellow, grey hair, dressed like commuters often did and conducted himself with impeccable manners always. An e4 player, I responded with the only thing I had some idea of -that being the French Defence. Being unsporting and wanting to win by boring me to death, or perhaps being downright unimaginative, or whatever it was, we had an exchange variation on our hands and a symmetrical position soon arose -as you might expect for a game played between two average club players. ¹ I just went through the motions mechanically and was of course partly to blame. A lifeless early middle-game position arose and true to form I switched off altogether. I don’t recall where we were in the league for the final match of the season but my team never got relegated once -I made sure of that! Wherever we were in the league, the game had the feel of there being nothing left to play for, so presumably we were safe.²

With so little interest in chess left and no intention to carry on anymore, a bore draw should have been the icing on the cake. But it didn’t go that way: a talentless me never did improve that much in the 90s ³ but I did become more solid as a player and was not easily beaten. I usually played board two in division two of the Beds. league, usually playing opponents around 170, usually grinding out draws. I never usually played to win much because of this. My team, chosen by me, had strength and depth, and if Steve Yates and I held our own on the top two boards, the bottom three (Michael Josephs, Peter Montogmery + one floater, often journalist Sean Ingle) would win us the match almost always. But instead of play out a draw rather unthinkingly, I impulsively threw caution to the wind and unleased a devasting attack in a completely symmetrical postion that won me the game unexpectedly as my opponent was caught off guard completely. Back in the day before computer analysis, most would not dream of launching their sheltering kingside pawns down the board at their opponent’s king (also castled kingside) just to open things up no matter how good or bad they were. Perhaps in favour of what is commonly classified as ‘Old Man’s Chess‘, my aged opponent didn’t know what to do and just sat back. Somehow I gained control of the e-file with my rooks and the move XX. …Re2 brought serious problems as mate was imminent. He couldn’t cope and resigned against an attack that came out of nowhere just to alleviate boredom.

Doesn’t that just say it all? How replete with detachment does it have to get? That summer didn’t I just go off gallivanting around central Europe with student friends made in Finland? The following year, studies concluded successfully and America after Cambridge it was.⁴ Either study or travel reigned supreme and I never ever looked back that decade -chess had been vanquished. Even when, I even returned from America all loved up by a partner in crime Philosophy graduate from that neck of the woods. We not only walked past a team mate’s house en route to The Moat House pub in Luton once and never stopped to knock on his door so that I could introduce her to him, but weeks later then walked past the school opposite St. Albans Cathedral, with I pointing out in passing only that I played chess there once -she was not interested and neither was I!⁵

That is the way the cookie crumbles as they like to say over that side of the pond: my last game of a 9-year chessfest where 496 competitive games amassed ended in a way which said it all – I simply was no longer interested. That game I won yes but it mattered not. How it was won did so, but importantly, it brought the final curtain down on the show! Life was to be lived and live it I did -no time for board games anymore I’m afraid… .

1. It was only later in life, when I returned to chess refreshed, better educated and able to study more critically, that I learnt how to play against that line better through the games of former champ Alekhine; in particular on which side to castle, which squares to develop the knights to and where to redeploy them for a kingside attack…assuming of course your opponent castled kingside early (as they so often do at that level).
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2. Through this year’s continuous study, a broadener understanding of how memory functions has emerged, which allows this raconteur to avoid proclaiming history being made here, instead, what little I recall and why I can recall it is mentioned only. No confabulation in play here.
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3. Even though during that sojourn in Finland I did play an FM down ‘The 3 Beers’, the student pub, and beat him, he was rated 2340, way above my rating. further aside: that only came about because he was working behind the bar, and that evening he had great difficulty with a very drunk customer who would not leave and wanted to fight him when pushed to do so, and whilst sat supping pints with another Englishman, a Yorkshire man named Phil, who lived in St. Albans and studied the Finnish language, I was having none of that and threw him out myself. For this the barman was most grateful, wanted to join us for a chat and buy me a drink: a common interest was found and so we played. Thankfully, I did not make a habit of running goons out of his bar -just the once! That was one of many memories I have of Phil, the best by far being when we travelled up way beyond the Artic Circle to Pyhätunturi with another Englishman and a Dutchman named Robert, who we shall never forgot. Upon arrival we found a tourist hut to gather information and various questions were asked. One by Robert, however, blew Phil right back as well as the man behind the desk providing us with information. Both were left speechless for a few seconds because Robert asked where the bears were. His reply was that they were hibernating (it was winter and it was dark all day long). Robert then asked ‘Is it okay to go into the caves and take pictures of them?’ Stunned, Phil glanced straight at me, came up to me and whispered ‘If he wants to go into caves and wake bears up that’s up to him. I’m not doing it.’ Struggling not to laugh at it. Phil also made me laugh on the trip when he joked about Robert’s accounts of going to the Spar supermarket down the hill, he said ‘it’s like Scott of the Antartic everytime’. I made Phil laugh once because Robert placed his boots too near the open fire in our cabin and they caught on fire. Later that night we went off to the resort in the evening for some drinking and dancing, where Robert met a Russian woman with jet black hair and went off with her. When he returned, he talked about being surprised to have had the opportunity and said he didn’t know what she saw in him, to which I quipped ‘Maybe she liked the smell of burnt rubber‘, which Phil found highly amusing.
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4. The year after, America coast to coast twice over and Euston Square, London all Summer long too, with Belgium and Thailand the following season to start the new decade off -boy did I have itchy feet by then!
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5. Regarding the time spent in The Moat House, my assertions are also corroborated by the recollection that family friend and piss head Marc Courtney, spotted us and staggered up asking ‘Ya still playin’ the chess?’, with some slur, whilst performing an impromptu impersonation of me playing by moving invisible chess pieces about on an invisible chess board with his hands moving about in an ungainly manner. I believe I either lied with a quick ‘Yes’ or said nothing so as to get rid of him as soon as I could as I was accompanied and she had only just arrived in the country.
   
   Rather reluctantly, I should preface the previous paragraph with the following: prior to bumping into Marc Courtney, and before heading off to California in 98, I was working at Cambridge train station as a porter. One afternoon Matt Payne, who briefly played for Luton in the early 90s spotted me and came up to ask how I was. He asked whether I knew what had happened to former tutor, friend and team mate Roman Korzeniewski, who sadly died ealier that year, suffering a heart attack in a hotel in Norwich, aged 42 only. Caught off guard completely by such saddening news, I knew nothing of it and had no contact details of anyone anymore, so had to ask for some for further information. It can be concluded that chess really was not part of my life anymore by then. Further proof can be found some weeks later at Heathrow Airport, as I awaited my flight to LAX. I saw in the departure lounge who was 2nd county team captain when I played, a certain John Shaw. In the corresponding match against Leighton Buzzard B in that last season (mentioned above in the post), I played him just after I had arrived back from Finland. I had the white pieces for that game and beat him with the Stonewall Attack, he was rated 152 then. I often helped him carry sets from his car into venues for county matches and we got on quite well, however, at the departure lounge I didn’t speak to him and didn’t want to say hello even though he had spotted me. Chess had already been forgotten about, and I had far more important things to think about -that being by far the longest flight of my entire life, whether my bicycle was defintely on it, and which British heavy metal songs to keep listening to on my walkman. In total, chess only appeared in my thoughts 4 times in 1998. ↩︎

M J M

Bahrain

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‘The night grew darker. The sound of pianos mingled with the wind. I could not see the trees—I was entrapped in a town where I had once known nothing but fields and one old house, stately and reticent among the limes.‘ Edward Thomas -The Heart of England, Chapter one, Leaving Town (1909 London J. M. Dent & Co.)

First chess in the big smoke

Why I was barely 17 when my love of chess took me to London. It was late spring, May 7th in fact, a quiet sunny Sunday in the home counties and London too. Damon D’ Cruz fellow club member of Luton chess club and friend, was late in picking me up. He used his brother’s Vauxhall Cavalier that day, the number plate I still recall -E391BGS. Whilst waiting, I listened to songs on a thrash metal compilation I had bought recently, the vinyl still unscratched then; Life in Forms by Acid Reign, and Open Casket by Death being the main two. As I recall he was due to pick me up at 8 am but did so at 8.45 with play commencing at 10 am. Once collected, off to London we went, Islington, as it were.

It was all Damon’s idea, I just went along, us both well into our chess. The name of the tournament I cannot be entirely sure of, believing it to be The Islington Quickplay or The Islington and Highbury Quickplay, one of the two. Held in a school I cannot remember the name of but do remember well the streets and roads that lead you there, the affluence that draped over them, and how the morning light cut clear and crisp angles on rows of blanched stone walls besides flower beds bright in the sun, and clearly painted signs on the fresh tarmac beyond garden walls where hedges were neatly cultivated -something a few streets in Luton had only a paltry smattering of.

Run by Adam Raoof, who seemed somewhat unkempt that day, I was paired in Round 1 against someone rated 187, who insisted upon playing the Evan’s Gambit against me and won with not too much difficulty. And although I would love to say how the day went, I just can’t. All I rememeber was sat in some school assembly hall we were and I found it difficult to cope with the experience on the whole. In what I recall was the final round of the day, that being Round 5, I cannot tell you what my score was prior to it but only that my opponent played the Vienna Game against me and I didn’t know what to do against it. After the game had finished, I do remember asking Damon for his advice but with some bemusement for I had not even been playing chess for two years at that point, and had shown relatively little interest in opening theory throughout that time or so I remember.

I had left school less than one year prior to that quickplay, soon stopped cutting my hair thereafter, was now at VIth Form College and wore only heavy metal T-shirts. I knew nothing of the world and went along for the ride it could be said. What stands out most from that experience was being part of the chess scene in England was more engrossing and engaging than the chess itself, of which I was still not very good at. It was the first of innumerous forays into London for chess to come across five consecutive decades and counting. A mere six months later, Damon and I returned to Islington to watch Karpov, Yusupov, Speelman, and Timman compete in the FIDE Candidates semi-finals at the Saddler’s Wells Theatre, and although Islington heralds where my love of chess first blossomed in London it was soon to be superceded by life, which per se was shaped by chess, that in turn shaped the lives of others from Italy of all places, some years later. Before that, though, those categorically distinct; namely history and the past, both require some context of sorts.

Further back still, Islington was the first part of London I ever visited and where my first ever memories come from, as I still fleetingly recall the road I walked down with my mother as a toddler, as she took me to where the first man who would replace my father lived -a certain Terry Whitbred.

Moving forwards to 1993, Islington was the first part of London I did work of any kind, and where I had my first ever interview by the music press. Team mate Damon opened a record company called Culture Vibes Records, at an office in Leroy House, on the corner of Essex Road and Balls Pond Road. Once, the press came round late that August and wanted to interview someone from the company, being little more than hired help I was lumbered with that because no one in the office wanted to do it. They took my photo, and music aside, asked many questions, one being ‘What is your favourite day of the week?’ I told them it was Saturday. When asked why, I said it was because I got to see my girlfriend that day (a teenager called Lorraine who was well into Grunge like me and listened to the same bands, wore the same clothes, was friends with the girl I had dated not long before (Emma), and more than happy to have prolonged snogging sessions in the long shadows of Luton Town Hall across late afternoons before her bus went up to Eaton GreAnother first I am beholden of Islington for is that it has always been the part of London I said I liked the most…well until I began working in Covent Garden in 2001 that is. Much before then, many times over I took the tube to Angel station and walked up to Damon’s office, a good 1 hour walk past Islington Green until St. Paul’s park arrived and stood opposite. I liked the feel and swagger of Essex Road very much; the affluence the little roadside cafes and coffeeshops brought, with their seating outside making them look rather chic, not to mention those regal Victorian pubs on street corners and the up-market restaurants that paved the jolly little streets running away from them also. Pedestrians and those seated on park benches were often well-dressed, even the cars parked and in passing symbolised wealth. That affection held throughout the 90’s and is easily remembered when I had my first position in the education sector back in the warmest months of 99, when I was both the Hall Manager and Activities Organiser for a school all Summer long, staying in Euston Square at the time, Endsleigh Gardens I might add. Asked to entertain a group of mature Italian students one evening mid-week (one of which I had great sympathy and compassion for as she suffered with depression and needed assistance sometimes, requiring me to hold her hand and steady the ship if she became tearful), I decided to take the 10-20 or so up away from the UCL to Islington for the night out as I knew it was cosmopolitan but also an authentic experience in real London, as opposed another meander through a touristic area, something which the students wanted to wander away from. After exiting Angel Tube station, it was not long before we found a swanky little bar full of well-to-do city-commuters enjoying their beer and conversations. One gentleman in particular was very pleased to meet one student, Marco from Milan, long, curly hair and very Italian looking, and was most welcoming, keen on practicing his limited Italian as well as shaking hands with whoever he could with that unsober smile of his. Wine and beer went down, cultural exchange went on, and moods went up amidst the decor between the bar and the open front end that led onto the street. That evening we sauntered through for the evening panned out as I hoped it would, all because I knew Islington well enough to know it was exactly what our students were looking for through connections to chess and friendships formed from it, which altered my experience of London irrevocably: through chess, Islington was were I first gained a grounding in the big smoke before off I went to university and before work placed me elsewhere around the city, and life, in general, took over in all its guises… .

‘How noble the long, well-lighted streets at this hour, fit with their smooth paved ways for some roaring game, and melancholy because there is no one playing. The rise and fall of the land is only now apparent. In the day we learn of hills in London only by their fatigue; in the night we can see them as if the streets did not exist, as they must have appeared to men who climbed them with a hope of seeing their homes from the summits or of surprising a stagbeneath. The river ran by, grim, dark and vast, and having been untouched by history, old as hills and stars, it seemed from a bridge, not like a wild beast in a pit, but like a strange, reminiscential amulet, worn by the city to remind her that she shall pass.’ Edward Thomas -The Heart of England, Chapter one, Leaving Town (1909 London J. M. Dent & Co.)

M J M

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It is undeniably true that my love of chess has shaped both my experience and understanding of England more so than anything else. A corollory of that pertains to how it crossed over into other passions which took me further afield too. Some of those at my local club (Luton) have become life-long friends. Unsurprisingly, then, we did things together other than play chess. We also went to football matches to watch Luton play, with A-Team player Damon D Cruz behind the wheel as always. This happened at matches away from home four times, the second of which I would like to focus upon.

In Reflections 6, I chronicled for how Matthew Payne, Damon D’ Cruz and I went to watch the FIDE candidates semi-finals at the Saddler’s Wells Theatre in Islington, London in Autumn 1989. Same old season but fast forward 15 years, and all three of us went down to Southend-on-Sea to watch The Hatters play in the F. A. Cup first round. United by a love of chess and football, we cheered on our home team, the day being one not forgotten.

That Autumn I was commuting to Cambridge daily and can only assume I must have dropped a day’s pay and requested that Friday off. It was a televised, evening match, Damon and I left Luton not long after midday, the drive itself not worth mentioning. I recall we arrived easily enough and went for mid-afternoon drinks at some unglamorous boozer on the sea front. I always remember sitting outdoors with a black leather jacket on and eating bags of roasted peanuts which I washed down with whichever lager I was drinking. The sky was as grey and deadening as Southend itself…nothing more than a cheap seaside town with little to offer I thought. Conversation was mostly chitter-chatter about nothing in general, most probably something was said about my upcoming trip to Thailand at some point, how often chess cropped up I cannot recall. Darkness fell with drizzle around five, the evening sky soon miserable. Off we trundled to collect Matt at the train station…say sixish? In being early, that did not stop us having a few more jars at that small pub just inside the station -accompanied by even more bags of dry roasted peanuts of course. In finding chess fan numero tres, a short stroll in dismal weather to Roots Hall was had, the fever and noise ricocheting through the streets we walked as one.

I liked it how we hung out as chess friends, but chess was not on the agenda -we were there for the footy. The game was great as Luton won convincingly (see below for highlights). There is, however, one memory that stands out so much more than any other, even as I type these words, it’s hard not to smile or laugh. As anyone can tell you, when football fans go to away matches in their hundreds or thousands, a lot of drinking gets done, especially when it involves a well-supported club from a rough, working-class town like mine -that match was no exception. I must have had at least 5 pints myself before the game, probably more, but enter the guy in the navy fisherman’s jacket in the row in front of us -it’s hard not to laugh even after all these years! With his head of unkempt grey hair, he looked late 50s, early 60s maybe. He had a flushed red face, that of an alcoholic and an enormously buldging stomach to put it mildly. How many pints he had before the game I didn’t know but would find out in the break. He was one row down and off to my left slightly. To his right were two office type looking guys, both went off to get coffees during half-time. The old guy, who I shall never forget, then couldn’t control himself anymore and started spraying out vomit left, right and centre. Not little amounts but high powered sprays, short bursts lasting a second or two. He couldn’t stop himself, how many times it happened I could not count. When the office type looking guys returned to their seats, chatting away looking all happy holding their paper cups of coffee -the sudden look of sheer horror on their faces was absolutely priceless! Their seats were by now caked in puke, and I do mean caked -that is not an exaggeration. Not just their seats but the floor around them and other seats too. There were stunned and looked for a culprit instantly, perhaps in fear of perpetual puke! Straight away they clapped eyes on the the guy sitting next to them, who had stopped spraying it about by then, and who couldn’t have looked more like an alcy if he had tried. But the instance they clapped eyes on him, he looked away all innocent and up to the sky too -it was hard not to take amusement in it. They had no choice but to stand for the whole of the second half, glancing around suspiciously for other potential culprits, visibly less happy than they were before the half-time whistle. The old bloke next to them continued to spray vomit but far less often and was much more discreet about it. At one point Matt and I looked at each other, smiling away -you couldn’t not! Talk about taking the biscuit!

The atmosphere was jubilant, the weather awful but bearable, Luton were victorious, we didn’t get puked on! Round two it was, we were all singing away together, most of us pissed up. I liked how our working class roots combined with our more middle-class lives and interests, and how a great night was had, full of friendship and action on the pitch – it was a great combination that we played.

This account of that day, Friday November 12th 2004, is written because it exemplifies how chess not only broadened by understanding and experience of my culture in chess events but also non-chess events with chess players I knew well, had stayed friends with for decades by then and would for decades more. Chess brought us together and from that we enjoyed our football in each other’s company.

M J M

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Early one morning in May I set out,
And nobody I knew was about.
I’m bound away for ever,
Away somewhere, away for ever.

Edward Thomas, Early One Morning

October 14th 1989 was a sunless Saturday. An overcast Autumn day where lifelong chess friends Damon D’ Cruz and sidekick Matt Payne, went with I to the Saddler’s Wells Theatre down in deepest, darkest Islington, London to watch the FIDE Candidates Semi-finals: with the winners of Timman v Speelman and Karpov v Yusupov competing for the chance to dethrone Kasparov the then FIDE world champion.

We drove down. Damon was at the wheel. And with the journey instantly forgettable, we soon found ourselves paid up in the theatre foyet with tickets in hand and ready. Once in, we plonked ourselves down to soak up the chess pronto. I found the venue more elegant and magnificent than the chess itself, which I attempted in vain to follow on a small, cheap, green magnetic set I had bought earlier that year, months before one of the pawns went walkabout! We sat at the front with the theatre only half full at best, and because Matt was relatively inexperienced at chess, a cocksure teenage me kept offering up unwonted commentary. Just a move or two before the Karpov game ended, I announced ‘Draw!’ to Matt a bit too loudly -to which Karpov gave me a stone-faced glare full of Soviet seriousness.

https://www.chessgames.com/perl/chessgame?gid=1068725

The other game, however, aroused much more interest with local boy GM Speelman turning on the style and snatching victory, levelling up the match with one game to play. I distinctly remember the finale, but must have gone for a wander prior to it because when the game ended there was I standing by the entrance to the auditorium with GM Speelman walking up the passageway towards me. As he drew near, his blue jumper becoming increasingly more visible, you could hear spectators congratulating him ‘Well done Jon’ I kept hearing and ‘Good on ya Jon‘ also, then he looked at me as if in anticipation of further congratulations, but being so shy, teenage me couldn’t offer any up and froze instead as he exited. I still remember that moment very clearly and how GM Speelman was very happy with his win, the light applause he received, and the patriotism that filled the air.

https://www.chessgames.com/perl/chessgame?gid=1130235

After play had ended, Damon, Matt and I scampered off to a little cafe nearby for some scran. Cocksure me couldn’t shut up at the table, so much so that an accompanied and rather well-dressed woman on a nearby table began looking at me with some amusement, as if to say ‘who is this jumped up teen that thinks he’s an expert on chess’. What fading memories found thereafter flicker only between a return to Damon’s motor parked across the road, how the weather had become inclement, that I had no idea of which part of a giantesque London I was in, and how happy I was to be heading home with the action over.

The past is the only dead thing that smells sweet,
The only sweet thing that is not also fleet.
I’m bound away for ever,
Away somehwere, away for ever.

Edward Thomas, Early One Morning

M J M

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On Saturday, December 12th 2009, I decided to go along to the first London Chess Classic and watch Round 4 unfold. Even with the temperature barely above zero, it was a pleasant journey to Kensington Olympia Conference centre, being my first time there since I competed at Othello in the 1999 Mind Sports Olympiad (details of which can be found here: https://www.studiogiochi.com/files/studiogiochi.com/2018/07/MSO-1999-Brochure.pdf. Although I played alongside the current world champion (Murakami Takeshi) back then, who was of course Japanese, it was in fact Dennis Hassabis who won that event as I recalled, alongside many contiguous positive memories which carried me there.

Upon entering the event, I had to buy a ticket in the lobby, a huge spectacle itself and full of children and parents playing in the lobby on giant sized chess sets: it was a hub of activity with children of all ages running around and having fun. Inside the playing hall it was, of course a much quieter affair, and amongst the games being played, the one I took interest in the most, being a French Defence player for so long, was this one: https://www.chessgames.com/perl/chessgame?gid=1565727.

Things that stood out which are worth recording:

1. I had already been working overseas for a decade and was only back in England to undertake a Masters Degree. I was not yet used to being back in blighty and snowed under with academia. But the whole thing; being in England, taking the train to London, going to watch some chess, fond memories of the location, felt like a trip down memory line if anything.

2. Whilst in the auditorium where the Masters played I saw GM Magnus Carlsen for the one and only time, well before play begun as I had arrived rather early. I then spent time reminiscing about my time there ten years previously and how a close friend and former playing partner Nick McBride bumped into me and introduced himself with a big smile on his face, telling me his name and who he used to play chess for, assuming I must have forgotten who he was. Nick and I both played chess for Luton in the 80s and 90s and draughts for England once down in Weymouth. Info provided by Draughts IM Dennis Pawlek, author of the following site. https://startcheckers.com/

In the chess section I remembered seeing a young David Howell defeat GM John Nunn, who stormed out upon defeat and pushed past many in the process, myself included. In the Cribbage section, I saw Bedford’s Ledger brothers (Dave & Andy) playing together in the doubles section. In the draughts section, Nick showed me who the big stars were, the main one being Ron King. I always remember lots of players from Bahrain participating. I saw GM Nick Pert there too, who I once played against in Hitchin and drew with when he was younger.

3. When not reminiscing, I felt heavily encumbered by the research I had to conduct that month, finding theories of vision and perception proposed in the 70’s tough to eschew and even tougher to digest. This set the tone for most of the day, and if truth be told, it wasn’t the greatest of days, as put – I was snowed under.

4. I found the Masters section rather boring and decided to wander around at some point. In doing so, I also saw GM Korchnoi for the first and only time. Being 78 then, he had quite some dificulty walking and had to use a cane to do so. I saw him expect someone to open a door for him…let’s just say his lack of manners was less than impressive and leave it there.

5. A major section was played also, and I spend quite some time there as much more chess going on. One player caught me by surprise, I thought something was wrong as she couldn’t possibly be a chess player even though she was playing on quite a high board. I went up to her table out of curiosity and some disbelief too. She picked up on this and got up out of her chair. It was WFM Arianne Caoli. I did not know who she was back then and thought she must be a model who just wanted to take part or something, and not a chess player, which the card by the table confirmed she was. As you may know, she went on to marry GM Lev Aronian before tragically losing her life in a car accident in his home nation Armenia. Never in my life have I seen someone so beautiful play chess. But not wanting to disturb her or anyone else for that matter, I continued to circulate.

Not too long after, and long before play finished, I wandered off towards the tube and back home I went. Upon reflection, I liked the nostalgic feel the day had but was so under the kosh from the Master’s Degree I was taking, it wasn’t possible to enjoy the spectacle I beheld. It was a short break from studies and not too much else really. I must have told many about it all though as Andy Perkins from Luton chess club came up to me months later and wanted to know more about it.

MJM, Latin America

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Associating a place with chess and feeling ambivalent towards it is quite natural in my opinion well for we club and county players that is… .

Portsmouth: in 1992, we had a student from Portsmouth join Kents/Luton Chess Club, his name was James Taylor and he was rated 135. We both played for the county and got on like a house on fire, being the same sort of age and so on. In the winter of 1993, a tournament was held in Southsea where his family home was. I agree to stay there with him and play in the tournament also. I then persuaded several other members from my club to enter also. And so, on a cold afternoon with light snow that February day, we all drove down in D. Cruz’s black panther.

J. Taylor’s family home was warm and welcoming even though I turned up wearing clothes only those well into grunge wore.

It was the first time ever I played in a 6-round swiss, with the first game on the Friday night, three games on the Saturday and the final two rounds on the Sunday. I entered the Major section, which was an U-170.

That year I became much more solid as a player and became tough to beat. This was exemplified in the first two games, both of which I drew despite being on the backfoot throughout both, against opponents rated 200 ELO points above me. But the second draw was particularly tough. Our driver down saw how I went wrong in the opening and assumed it was completely lost. I similar thing occurred in the third game, after which not being a tournament player anyway caught up with me, and I went on to lose my next two games without really trying, only to win my final game, leaving me with 2.5 out of 6.

What stood out above all was not the chess though, it was the experience on the whole, which was very pleasant indeed. Memories are put in chronological order except the last one:

1. I loved the clear, crisp, icy cold weather with very light snow being blown about on the pavements in low winter light.
2. Being complimented by my opponent in Round 1 for my strong defensive skills.
3. Being made breakfast by and having it with James’s family at the start of day 2 on a rather posh avenue somewhere in SouthSea.
4. Being offered a draw by a panicky opponent in round two after I established decent counterplay in a position that had been lost for some time.
5. Seeing some girl wearing grunge clothes with a long white dress and heavy black DM boots in the tournament hall and sat down for hours often read novels by herself. She certainly caught my eye.
6. Bumping into fellow Bedfordshire league player, the Scotsman Tom Matko, who used to play for Cranfield, who played 1. f4 like I did back then, and against who I had many hair-raising draws. We then went for a walk along the seafront on the final day. He bought a Yorkie bar at an off-licence and explained that he rarely ate chocolate as he trained to run in marathons frequently. I really liked him and enjoyed our walk along Southsea Castle, despite the bitterly cold wind.
7. The least pleasant memory has nothing to do with the fact that after three games I lost interest but that one evening in Damon’s car, we got some pizza and ate it in his car. I burnt the top of my mouth on mine badly.

Chess & Football: Portsmouth. At the beginning of the 2008/2009 season, Luton were away to Portsmouth on Aug 4th, and I went to the match. We lost 1-0 but should have won. Siting in the chair behind me was former Luton Chess Club member Ken Grogan. Two photos I took from where I was sitting.

MJM, Colombia

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