We present a
selection of chess observations by David
James
Morgan (1894-1978) in
his
Quotes and Queries column, which ran in the BCM from 1953
to
1978:
‘In problemdom, the
difference between plagiarism and anticipation is the difference
between foul and fair. The first is plain thievery; the second
is the
accident of minds thinking alike.’ (April 1953, page 103).
‘We do, indeed, favour
the use of exclamation marks, sparingly and pointedly: certainly
no
more than two after a move. But to shake, vigorously, a
pepper-box
full of such marks is to make them meaningless.’ (April 1953,
page
103).
‘We can offer no
observations on the “social distribution of chess”. It should go
with cockles and ginger-beer no less than with oysters and
champagne
– if any game is at all possible on such festive occasions.’
(May
1953, page 137).
‘The author in question
is more of a pedlar than a pioneer. He has, as you say, also
published some problems, but you must not confuse aspiration
with
inspiration.’ (October 1953, page 273).
‘To plagiarize somebody,
we would say that to study chess without books is to sail an
uncharted sea, but to study books without any practice is not to
go
to sea at all.’ (November 1953, page 309).
‘You have “no ambition
to go beyond simple two-movers”. Your early recantation will
come
in the words of the impatient patient in hospital: “I’m tired of
nourishment. I want something to eat.”’ (February 1954, page
55).
‘Your wish for “games
punctuated by the player’s own notes” has much to be said for
it.
But there are players, even of master strength, who are
notoriously
bad annotators, and their games would be more punctured than
punctuated.’ (February 1954, page 55).
‘As to our “simple
philosophy of chess”, we have never thought of it that way.
Perhaps
it amounts to this: at the end of the game the king and the pawn
go
into the same bag. And when we fall into one of our frequent
tragic
(chess) lapses, we feel that the best part of repentance lies in
less
sinning.’ (April 1954, page 111).
‘We hazard no guesses as
to the outcome of hypothetical matches. Such predictions can so
often
become predicaments.’ (August 1954, page 264).
‘Yours is the occasional
protest against matters problematical (some such word as
“problemistic” might sound less ambiguous) which we receive. May
we suggest a little more fellow-feeling and less of the
fellow-feline?’ (August 1954, page 265).
‘There are not many
references to women’s chess in the Victorian age. ... Chess,
like
other games, breathes more freely in coatee and costume than it
did
in corset and crinolene.’ (September 1954, page 295).
‘It’s no use fuming at
your opponent’s smoking. As your Parisian library notices put
it:
“It is defence absolute to fume.” Over the chessboard, so much
depends on the mellowness of the cheroot, meerschaum or hookah,
the
direction of the prevailing wind, and so on. Due regard to such
factors, and one should be able to “fumer” without fumigating.
We
could suggest a tournament for the un-nicotined: perhaps the
de-nicotined could also be admitted.’ (October 1954, page 329).
‘“The theory of the game has been written out ...
chess needs doctoring.” We couldn’t agree less. For instance,
the
whole field of middle-game combinations needs codifying
scientifically. We would say, more doctrine and less doctoring.’
(February 1955, page 78).
‘It is not our wish to enter into “British chess
politics” here. Speaking generally, you cannot divorce politics
from policy, which amount to vice versus virtue, and vice versa.
As
to your own little club affair, your need, as you say, is tact –
which quality is a matter of proving how far you can go too far:
hope
you come out of it all intact.’ (March 1955, page 112).
‘Such a corner as this must, inevitably, become a
hotch-potch – call it medley, mélange, junk-shop
,
pot-pourri, hodge-podge, or what you will. We can but plead with
Byron, “There is a pleasure in the pathless woods”.’ (March
1955, page 112).
‘As we have previously said, we won’t be drawn into
personal issues. We would hate to qualify for Robert Ross’s
suggested epitaph for his own tomb, “Here lies one whose name is
writ in hot water”. In other words, we are coy and refuse to be
de-coyed.’ (May 1955, page 163).
‘Chess is a game for the salon no less than
for the saloon.’ (July 1955, page 210).
‘Slamming down the pieces is as unnecessary as
slamming a swing door.’ (October 1956, page 284).
‘There can be nothing more satisfying than teaching
the game to young players, nothing more delusive than to look
deliberately for world champions. For every youngster with a
spark of
genius there are plenty with ignition trouble.’ (November 1956,
page 310).
‘It takes years of practice to become a master
overnight, in spite of prodigies.’ (April 1957, page 93).
‘“I find chess problems rather easy ...” We have
a feeling you would find all the Arts just as easy. Sculpture,
for
instance: you just take a block of marble, a chisel, and a
hammer,
and knock off all the bits of marble you don’t want.’ (September
1957, page 229).
‘There is a world of difference between “one who
plays chess” and “one who is a chessplayer”. There is more in
it than “mere verbal quibbling”. It is the difference between “a
music critic” and “a musical critic”.’ (October 1957, page
277).
‘“I like exciting chess, with the queen
darting from corner to corner in a straight line ...” Thurber
has
long informed us that a straight line can be the dullest
distance between two points.’ (November 1957, page 296).
‘What connection there can be between chess and the
ballet we haven’t the remotest idea. We have read Fine’s thesis
on Psychology and Chessplayers, Dr Ernest Jones’ long essay on
Morphy, and other Freudian disquisitions on the activities and
symbolisms of the subconscious mind, but we fail to see the
bearing
on your analogy. In ballet, we gather that a young man twiddling
his
feet like an egg-whisk can be expressing a passion for his
stepmother. But where does chess come in? But then, we had no
stepmother.’ (January 1958, page 10).
‘“I play too impetuously ... and foolishly rush in
where angels, etc., ...” Rushing fools have more fun than
refraining angels.’ (January 1958, page 11).
‘... a chess master’s life, in one sense, is more
of a vagabondage than a bondage.’ (February 1958, page 47).
‘It is true that we have, from time to time,
protested against the continual re-appearance of the old
classics in
books. Which, of course, means nothing against the classics. We
simply object to buying them over and over again. We may be
peculiar,
but we do like fresh fish.’ (February 1958, page 47).
‘Have we any room for some lyrics on the game?
Regrettably, no. This is hardly the corner in which to
shilly-shally
with Shelley, be it done surely or shyly.’ (March 1958, page
78).
‘We regret we find it difficult to work up any
interest in scores of games, or bits of scores, which carry no
clue
of any kind as to source. Please give the who’s who, where’s
where, and when’s when.’ (April 1958, page 101).
‘There can be but one apology for such a lapse in the
opening: “I beg your Barden”.’ (July 1958, page 178).
‘As every schoolboy must know, it was Philidor
(1726-1795) who said that pawns are the soul of chess. This, in
the
best paraphrase we can think of, means that pawns are the life
and
soul of the partie.’ (August 1958, page 204).
‘Observation (by many of our friends) seems to bear
you out that chess is seldom seen in public houses. Contributory
factors may be the froth on the face of the beer as well as the
frost
on the face of the barmaid. Bubble, babble and Bogoljubow do not
make
for a happy blend.’ (December 1958, page 330).
‘The opponent who, especially when he has a bad game,
continuously taps the table with his pencil, will readily desist
on
request. He is probably not aware of it – just tapping out his
morose code.’ (January 1959, page 17).
‘“Chess may be good for us socially but not physically ...”
The onion, of course, is in direct reverse to this.’ (February
1959, page 67).
‘We are pleased to learn that the boys you meet in
matches are such “good sports”. The trouble about being a “good
sport” is that you have to lose in order to prove it.’ (March
1959, page 83).
‘Many such defeats have been due to underestimating
one’s opponent. The unexpected sometimes happens when you don’t
expect a player to come up to expectations.’ (May 1959, page
153).
The quip about Gossip pottering and Potter gossiping at
a club is a pretty old one (W.N. Potter, 1840-1895). In chess it
seems that longevity is the soul of wit.’ (June 1959, page 185).
‘As for “putting it in a nutshell”, we can but
sound glibly pedagogic. The art of teaching the game to
youngsters is
the art of making the complex simple, of going back from the
steam-engine to the kettle. And, of course, interest must be
roused
and maintained. A youngster’s spirit may be willing – his will
must also be spirited.’ (June 1959, page 185).
‘To be an expert in chess is no excuse for forcing it
on your young son. It is as illogical as your being very fond of
animals and then making him a butcher.’ (July 1959, page 215).
‘The average age of the great players is much lower nowadays.
The one you mention is old enough to be a grandmaster – and
young
enough to develop into one.’ (August 1959, page 229).
‘Of vital importance in all these Openings is not to
let memory swamp the mind.’ (October 1959, page 308).
‘Philidor certainly played a vitally important part in the
history of the game. But why “indispensable”? There has been
only
one indispensable man in the whole of history – and that was
Adam.’
(November 1959, page 332).
‘The columns in books on chess openings must be read
correctly,
like all other tables. Your method reminds us of the buxom lady
on
the weighing machine who looked wistfully at the chart above and
then
turned to her husband with, “According to this table, dear, I
should be six inches taller”.’ (March 1960, page 74).
‘Great players are more made than born.’ (April 1960, page
99).
‘Raising money for chess is always a problem. But we could
hardly recommend your suggested methods. They would put the
peculation into speculation.’ (April 1960, page 99).
‘“A problem should have a climax” – we find this
meaningless. It’s often a climax without crescendo.’
(October 1960, page 295).
‘“Men who spend hours at chess should be treated by a doctor.”
Men who spend hours at chess don’t care who treats them.’
(November 1960, page 329).
‘“I find it extremely difficult to get boys interested in
chess books.” Have you tried labelling them “For Adults
Only”?
(November 1960, page 329).
‘We have no information “as to extent and popularity of
women’s chess clubs”. Women should be delightfully clubbable:
cave-men used to find them so.’ (December 1960, page 354).
‘Used properly, a book of “traps” will be useful without a
doubt. Learn from others’ mistakes – you haven’t time to make
them all yourself.’ (December 1962, page 359).
‘“I first judge a problem by counting the number of men in it
...” And you doubtless first judge a novel by counting the
number
of words in it.’ (February 1963, page 49).
“Didn’t teenagers revolt against old-fashioned problems in
your young days ...?” Queerily enough, there didn’t seem to
be
any teenagers in those days.’ (March 1963, page 81).
‘“I have seen no problems lately by W. Pauly: has he been
composing in recent years?” Alas! Poor Pauly has been
decomposing
since 1934.’ (March 1963, page 81).
‘Briefly, in an endgame the solver is fighting against material
odds; in a problem he is fighting against time.’ (June
1963,
page 182).
‘Chessmen, like women and like bad photographs, can be
under-developed and over-exposed.’ (August 1963, page 245).
‘“... and I find the study of openings rather tiresome ...”
It is, of course, a matter of approach, logical and with
understanding rather than mechanical and parrot-wise. With
openings,
familiarity breeds content.’ (August 1963, page 245).
‘The chess problem can be studied as a science and practised
as
an art.’ (January 1964, page 18).
‘Across the chess board, bad mannerisms can be more
objectionable than bad manners.’ (January 1964, page 18).
‘We don’t mind an opponent looking at his watch during a game.
It’s only disconcerting when he shakes it as well.’ (March 1964,
page 79).
‘In chess, as in much else, good judgment comes from
experience.
Experience comes from poor judgment. Never make the same mistake
twice. Make a new one.’ (March 1964, page 80).
‘“I seem to play like a master, but as for my results ...”
We also play the piano like Paderewski – we use both hands.’
(April 1964, page 107).
“How long does it take to learn the game?” It all depends. We
remember once visiting a young lads’ club, and were greeted at
the
door by two bright ten-year-olds. “And do you wish to learn to
play
chess?”, we asked one. “Oh no”, he replied, “it’s my friend
who wants to learn this time. I learned yesterday.” As we said,
it
all depends.’ (May 1964, page 150).
‘Work through all the traps you can. But don’t forget, it is
not enough to learn all the tricks of the trade – you must learn
the trade.’ (July 1964, page 213).
‘A chess tournament is one in which all the players are
clock-eyed.’ (July 1964, page 214).
‘“I look on ‘brilliant endings’ and ‘pretty finishes’
purely as a scientist, with no aesthetic overtones”, and you
doubtless say, when a pretty girl passes by, “Now there’s an
arrangement of molecules for you!”?’ (August 1964, page 242).
“I generally look back on the chess of the good old days.”
Nothing is more responsible for the good old days than a bad
memory.’
(August 1964, page 242).
‘It is no use “sticking to a problem till my head swims”.
Put it away for a brainy day.’ (October 1964, page 306).
‘Capturing that queen’s knight’s pawn by the queen is an old
temptation. The trouble with resisting temptation ... is that it
may
never come again.’ (December 1964, page 364).
‘A chess problem, of course, must show economy of means
without
economy of effects.’ (August 1965, page 237).
‘There were no early English chess books to correspond to
those
from Spain and Italy. The game was well mediterraneanized before
it
was anglicized.’ (November 1965, page 318).
‘After winning a game, it’s of interest to find out just where
you went right.’ (January 1966, page 10).
‘“The revolution of hypermodernism in the early twenties by
Breyer, Réti, etc., ...” We would say more revelation
than
revolution: now all is part and parcel of modern theory. As in
so
much else, the heresy of yesterday is the orthodoxy of today.’
(November 1967, page 325).
‘He who cannot discover the beauties of a fine game without
the
aid of notes is not likely to create beauties of his own.’
(February 1968, page 50).
‘Those cut-and-dried rules – knights before bishops; no moving
a piece twice in the opening; and so on – have their use in our
early chess days. Every dogma has its day. Progress comes when
you
learn when to discard them.’ (March 1970, page 78).
‘But chess is an easy game; it’s your opponent that
makes it difficult. One advantage over bridge is that chess is
not a
shin-bruising game. Finally, while the study of chess theory
will not
necessarily make you a good player, it should show where other
players go wrong.’ (May 1970, page 157).
‘The best season for chess is winter, the time of year when it
gets later earlier.’ (May 1970, page 157).
‘We have no theories as to the running of a chess corner. We
pin
our faith on those three eternal verities: The scissors are
mightier
than the pen. When in doubt quote. Paste is thicker than ink.’
(August 1970, page 225).
‘We read again that the King’s Gambit is dead. It never quite
recovered from its previous deaths.’ (August 1970, page 226).
‘“The secret of health on tournament and on all other
occasions lies in the eating of onions.” The trouble, of course,
is
to keep the secret.’ (September 1970, page 269).
‘“Considering the conditions of tournament play, I am
surprised that there are no more blunders ...” We are of the
opinion that there are.’ (October 1970, page 287).
‘With modern medical advances, one day may well see the coming
of a Centenarians’ Chess Club. The terms for life membership
should
be moderate.’ (October 1970, page 287).
‘A reporter said that he nearly fell asleep at a chess
tournament. Better luck next time.’ (December 1970, page 362).
‘We have heard of proposals to make chess championship matches
easier for spectators to follow. Not to the extent, we hope, of
numbering the players.’ (January 1971, page 27).
‘“When young players reach the middle game they come to a full
stop ...” We suggest that it’s more of a coma than a full stop.’
(February 1971, page 70).
‘Chess, we read, is being played regularly in the open air in
New York. For domestic reasons?’ (June 1971, page 212).
‘“When you sit down at a board you can always tell a good
player ...” Yes, but how much can you tell him?’ (August
1971, page 294).
‘Tom Eckersley asks how would Philidor be regarded today.
Surely
as our oldest grandmaster.’ (September 1971, page 346).
‘A chessplayer died recently leaving a dozen chess clocks. The
executor had quite a busy time winding up the estate.’ (January
1972, page 36).
‘We note your remark that “elderly men talk less during a
game”. They usually have more to keep silent about.’ (May 1972,
page 186).
‘Many great players, we read, played their chess on an empty
stomach. Our incompetence is probably due to our having always
played
on a chessboard.’ (May 1972, page 187).
‘We have read that a famous player says he can play better if
there are a lot of people whispering in the room. A triumph of
mind
over mutter.’ (August 1972, page 296).
‘A thousand threepenny stamps were stolen from a North Wales
Post Office recently. The police are looking for anyone starting
a
correspondence game.’ (October 1972, page 400).
‘A continental magazine reported that a 120-year-old Turkish
chessplayer was dangerously ill. We hope his parents were sent
for.’
(November 1972, page 449).
‘“Of all seaside resorts”, says a gossip writer, “give me
Hastings.” We understand, however, that Mr L.A.J. Glyde refuses
to
part with it.’ (January 1973, page 44).
‘Fred Atkins feels that chess needs overhauling ... But hasn’t
it had too long a start?’ (April 1973, page 172).
‘Where you can start a chess column we have no idea. Have you
tried The Pigeon Fanciers’ Gazette?’ (August 1973, page
349).
‘Chess, like love, is a conflict between reflexes and
reflections.’ (October 1973, page 446).
‘“A grandmaster”, said a well-known player recently, “must
be born”. It certainly is an advantage.’ (February 1974, page
78).
‘“It’s surprising the number of chessplayers who die between
80 and 90 years of age.” We have always felt this was a
dangerous
age.’ (May 1974, page 174).
‘“The squares on a chessboard are all equal”, says a new
guide to the game. We shall just go on playing as if the
discovery
had not been made.’ (June 1974, page 204).
‘Edgar Harper from Philadelphia is
very much interested in the state of our own chess. We just
march
triumphantly from one defeat to another.’ (June 1974, page 206).
‘Yes, chess-ing can be hereditary.
You can get it from your children.’ (July 1974, page 240).
‘A writer, on the Nice Olympiad, said
the players did not seem to be so well dressed as at the Siegen
Olympiad, 1970. Of course not. Their clothes were four years
older.’
(November 1974, page 419).
‘A chess master confesses that a hard
game leaves him cold. Thicker underwear is indicated.’ (May
1975,
page 221).
‘Post-mortem analyses can be
extremely valuable. So, of course, can be ante-mortem analyses.’
(June 1975, page 268).
‘We have seen it estimated that 2% of
our people play chess. Possibly 2% of chessplayers do the same.’
(September 1975, page 413).
‘A chess optimist is one who thinks
he will never do anything as stupid again.’ (November 1975, page
509).
‘“When I travel in the realms of
chess ...” Wonderful. As long as you’re a traveller and not a
tripper.’ (January 1976, page 28).
‘We noticed recently that the name
(not the initial) of a Chinese player was I. We wonder what he
is
called for short.’ (March 1976, page 124).
‘There’s one thing about chess
stardom, it does not come in a twinkle.’ (May 1976, page 221).
‘It’s sad to know everything about
chess – except how to enjoy it.’ (November 1976, page 512).
‘We read that So-and-so is a young
player to be watched. We could name one or two older ones who
should
be kept under observation.’ (December 1976, page 568).
‘“How much reading books on
openings is good for one?” Like much eating – wholly useless
without digestion.’ (March 1977, page 141).
‘The more openings you learn the more
you learn how little you know.’ (December 1977, page 570).
‘We are glad you are “getting your
teeth into the game”. Perhaps we can adapt Walter Bagehot (in a
totally different connection) and suggest that chessplayers can
be
divided into incisors and grinders.’ (January 1978, page 33).
From the correspondence section in the June 1952 CHESS,
page
180:
