Ohwellwhatevernevermind

Down at River Cottage, the ever affable Fynn Kelly points out the inevitable:

"Mummy...it's you!"



Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall



Candice Kelly

Last Monday I was sitting at home working on an assignment when just after 7.30 in the evening the phone rang. Now usually, when receiving an unexpected call, the words "Are you on your way?" are not a good sign...

Apparently we were meant to be playing a match, which had completely stealthed my radar. I couldn't make it even if I had wanted to. The clocks had just been started and it would have taken me half an hour to get there, and in any case my deadline for the assignment was at midnight that night. Still, all's well that ends well. Since it was a home game, and a club night, there was someone on hand to step in, and the team won quite comfortably. The assignment was a doddle too in the end. I think I finished up about half nine.

The next game was the following week however, and one I was determined not to miss. The eagerly anticipated (!) Atticus 1 v Atticus 2 fixture. This is how the teams lined up.

Dave Lawson (199) v Andrej Stancak (176)
John Redmond (187) v Giorgos Christo (-)
Dave James (184) v Pasquale Rabadan (158)
Nick Wall (175) v Marcus Chard (138)
Enayet Hossain (174) v Neil Suttie (152)
Frank Boyd (160) v Farhad Amir-Afshari (134)
Brian Ewart (143) v Sanjoy Banerjee (132)
David Odunaya (-) v Steve Burge (123)

In the past we've played split strength teams in the first division, but this year, partly due to the strength of the Widnes team and partly due to the loss of players in the fallout from last year's dispute with that club, we were quite heavily outgunned on all boards. Still, on a personal note, I had played Brian once before, just a friendly, but I had won the game. In fact, it was my first victory at the club, after a string of losses, so I was confident I might be able to get a result if I played well.

Sanjoy Banerjee (132) v Brian Ewart (143)
Atticus 1 v Atticus 2 (Board 7)
23.11.2009

1.c4 Nf6 2.d4 g6 3.Nc3 Bg7 4.e4 d6 5.f3 0-0 6.Be3 e5



Another King's Indian, but I have to confess to certain doubts about the optimum move order. When I first started looking into the Saemisch variation (5.f3) last year, it was based on an article I had found online suggesting a simple attacking set-up with Be3...Qd2...0-0-0...g4...h4...etc. My results have been good with white in this opening, however I had started finding that queenside castling is perilous and in certain variations had started to prefer the more solid kingside castling, and consequently no charge of kingside pawns.

The question of where to place to other bishop also arises. Some variations suggest Bd3, although ...Nc4...Nb4 from black can be a nuisance, and as such at other times it is better to leave the bishop on f1.

Equally there is the question of the queen's pawn. As soon as the challenge to the centre arises from ...c5 or ...e5, it is tempting to push the pawn on, locking the centre and keeping black's dark-squared bishop temporarily out of the game. However, to avoid the accompanying ...e6 or ...c6 respectively, other variations suggests keeping the pawn tension is preferable. In my last game, against 6...c5, this is the plan I had pursued, but after exchange in the centre the game slipped into a drawish position.

I had rattled out the first six moves, but these doubts slowed me down. Brian was still moving seemingly with confidence, and after the next few moves found himself a quarter of an hour to the good.

7.Nge2 Nc6 8.Qd2 a6 9.g4



The difficulty with 7.Nge2 is that white will now at some stage require a way to free his light-squared bishop, which is now unable to control the b5 square. If ...exd4 does not come, then the knight must seek c1 or g3 at some stage. Alternatively however after 7.d5 c6 and 8...cxd5 cxd5, the c-file is wide open and queenside castling seems out of the question.

I wasn't particularly confident that the kingside thrust was going to be effective either, yet it seemed that if I needed to make the move rapidly or risk ...h5 from black to pre-empt it, although even this may be a mistake from black, since it then allows white's bishop access to the g5 square without fear of h6 to chase it away.

Looking at the game afterwards, my opponent also suggested that there is a sacrifice possible for black here with 9...Bxg4 10.fxg4 Nxg4, although I'm not sure how effective this is after 11.Bg5.

9...h5



The idea behind white's kingside attack is to open either g- or h-file for attack, coupled with exchange of bishops on g7 and perhaps queenside castling to link the rooks behind the attack. After the immediate riposte of 9...h5, 10.gxh5 does not look promising, since after 10...Nxh5, both g- and h-file are only half open, and do not seem exploitable, and furthermore black's knight is exerting pressure on the f4 square, with the possibility of Qh4+ a potential nuisance. This was as far as I looked, however 11.d5 Nd7 12.Ng3 Nf6 12.h4 looks promising for white.

I was reluctant to play d5 immediately however, since I liked the idea of Bg5 pinning the knight to the queen. If Nd7 before the pawn is pushed, I was also considering queenside castling to double up on the d-file, with the threat of dxe5, however both Bd7 and exd4 obviate the threat. Choosing not to play either 10.gxh5 or 10.d5 then, an immediate 10.Bg5 looks another strong option, where say, if 10.exd4 Nd5 looks strong.

10.h3 Rb8

Instead, I chose an inappropriately timid option, hoping to play a preparatory move or two before launching into one of these other ideas. This is where I think my game has much room to improve. Reluctant to attack prematurely, I will fail to seize the initiative where it is ripe. My more cautious approach is perhaps borne from a reluctance to gamble speculatively if I can see no concrete advantage. Yet, to know when it is possible to force is to some extent instinctive. Even where there is no immediate tactic, there are positions where the idea of the attack is to provoke weaknesses that outweight any loosening up of the attacker's own position. Alternatively, a safety-first policy can often invite the tables to be turned, as this game amply demonstrates.



I'd like to be able to play 11.Ng3 to prevent 11...b5, however, the knight is chased away by 11...h4. However 11.Nc1 might have been a possibility.

11.Bg5

Having rejected Bg5 the move before, it felt slightly borne of panic to seize on it now.

11...Qe8

I was a little relieved to see this move when it came, since I was anxious about 11...exd4 now, however the immediate 12.Nd5 looks strong for white.



There are two attacking ideas here. I was looking at 12.Bxf6 Bxf6 13.Nd5 Bd8, however when we looked at the game afterwards, Brian pointed out that black can play 13.Bh4+ to force 14.Kd1 preventing white from castling, and in fact can then ignore the threat to c7 if he chooses with f5 or b5. In the event, I turned down this idea in any case, since I did not want to lose my dark squared bishop. White's position is full of holes on the dark squares, f2, g3, f4 etc. The other idea was 12.d5 Nd7 13.Ng3, which is much more in tune with my play. Building a cumulative positional advantage. However, I missed a cute double tactic here, which blew the game wide open.

12.d5 Nd4! 13.Nxd4 exd4 14.Ne2 Nxe4! 15.fxe4 Qxe4 16.Rg1



A neat combination and white is now firmly under the cosh. We were back level on the clocks at least since black thought a long while before playing the knight sacrifice. Still I'm sure it's the right move.

I'm not sure what the best continuation is here for black. 16...Re8 or 16...hxg4 both look possible.

16...d3 17.0-0-0 dxe2 18.Bxe2



Forced to return the piece I now find myself a pawn down, however I seem to be hanging on.

18...b5

The aim is to open up the b-file to the rook, with the bishop already pointing ominously at b2 and the queen ready to follow suit. However, it doesn't seem to work so long as white doesn't get greedy.

19.cxb5 hxg4 20.hxg4



With the position so wide open, I wouldn't say I was feeling confident. It seemed possible that havoc could be wreaked at any moment, but I was starting to feel happier with the position. I seem to have been given the pawn back, and now with the h-file open, I have strong counterplay. We are both starting to look at time trouble as well, with around fifteen minutes each for our last fifteen or so moves.

20...Bd7 21.Bh6



Playing this move, I felt black might be in real trouble now. 21...Bxh6 22.Qxh6 Bxe2 23.Rh1 is deadly, whereas Bxg7 Kxg7 allows the same idea, albeit delayed.

21...Be5

A nice saving moving since 22.Bxf8 Bf4 pins the queen. Yet with the rook now en prise, white has tactical chances. I thought long and hard about the next move. Brian had around ten minutes left, but I was unable to find the killer strike. By the time I moved, I was down to 8 minutes.

22.Bd3

Looking at the game with Luke afterwards, he suggests 22.Rdf1

22...Qa4 23.b3 Qa3

23...Qd4 may be better, since I was happy to draw the queen into a3, where she is prevented from influencing key squares, b5 and g4 for instance.



24.Kb1 Rfe8 25.Qc2 Bxb5 26.Bxg6



Less than ten minutes apiece, and I thought I had driven the nail into the coffin. Not quite!

26...Qb2+

Not for the first time, black finds the move to save himself.

27.Qxb2 Bxb2 28.Kxb2?

A mistake. 28.Bxf7+ goes into the endgame a pawn to the good.

28...fxg6 29.Rd2



Probably the offer of a draw here would have been accepted. But with six moves left until the time control, there's still a chance for carelessness.

29...Re5 30.a4??

Er...carelessness on my part it would seem.

30...Kxa4 31.Rg3 Re4 32.Ka3 Bd7 33.Rc3 Rb7 34.Rf2?

Dropping another pawn in the scramble to the time control, yet I have less than sixty second left.

34...Bxg4 35.Rf8+ Kh7



We get to the time control with about 20 seconds left on my clock, and around 2 minutes to Brian. The opposite coloured bishops still offer drawing chances, but with the two pawns I have lost, I may be doomed.

36.Bc1 Kg7 37.Rf2 Rd4 38.Bb2 Kh6



I have won back one of the pawns with 39.Rxc7 to come. It's good form to play one's move before offering a draw, but here I offered the draw and was grateful that it was accepted. Black still has winning chances, and perhaps ought to have declined, but it has been a roller coaster.

I should also have checked the match situation before offering the draw, although as it turned out we had already lost. Soundly beaten five of the eight boards, with three left in play. In the event we took a 7.5-0.5 battering, with my half point all we had to show.

I'm pleased with a draw for once. There were stages when I was better, but I also felt on the rack for long periods, and I am beginning to learn that any result at this level has to be scrambled and fought for.

There is still much improvement to be made in my game. Again, I'm not sure I managed my clock to my best advantage, and made errors in the final stages. However, I'm pleased to have garnered a second half-point for the season. With two draws and two losses, it's not much to write home about, but it seems something to show at least for three fighting performances. Since losing wretchedly in the first game, I've been pleased with my level in the three subsequent games. It might be a slow start, but I'm beginning to feel I can hack it at this level. The first win, when it comes, if it comes, will be a relief, but I'm still aiming for a 50% season if I can keep building.

Next match a week on Wednesday, December 2nd.

I used to work in a call centre, selling car insurance (not a comedy goldmine I know, but trust me here) and we had a girl called Gemma working for us. She was only seventeen, and made me feel about 100 years old. But it had its moments though...

There was this one time she had a customer on the line, and was asking all the questions, you know, to come up with a quote.

It was when she got onto the question "Do you have any modifications or optional extras fitted to that vehicle".

The guy on the other end of the line, must have been in a witty mood, because he said "Optional extras? Oh yes. I've got optional extras. I have a flux capacitor fitted."

We heard Gemma say to him "Okay I don't think we cover that. But I'll have to go and check." We then watched as she put him on hold, took her headset off and walked across the office and into the little room at the end, the "feedback room", where the supervisor would take people to give them a bollocking.

Now, the walls of that room are very thin, and you can't always hear everything that people are saying, but we heard Gemma's voice, like the teacher from Charlie Brown.

"Hnv got hn guy on the phnhv. Hnv's got a flnvx capacnvtr fnvtted. Dnv wn cnver thnvt?"

We then heard about what sounded a guy pissing himself laughing. And then some more distorted conversation. But eventually Gemma came out of the room. She walked back across to her desk and sat down in her seat and put her headset back on and said.

"Yes sir, we do. But only up to 88 miles an hour"

[Review by Tim Sendra - www.allmusic.com]

In the five years since their last record, the duo of Erlend Øye and Erik Glambek Bøe have each been busy, Øye with DJ gigs and his other band the Whitest Boy Alive, and Bøewith his day job and fighting Clear Channel in their hometown of Bergen, Norway. Getting back into Kings of Convenience mode sounds like it was as easy as putting on a fresh pair of socks. Their third album, Declaration of Dependence, sounds like it could have been recorded at the same session as Riot on an Empty Street; it's just as relaxed, mellow, and dreamy. The pair's voices blend like honey and more honey, each of them possessing vocal chords made of cotton candy. They twine their voices around complex but warmer-than-a-Snuggie harmonies on every song; the comparisons to Simon & Garfunkel still hold up, though by now they really sound most like themselves, and not imitators. This album is sparser than the last; there are no guest vocals and very infrequent extra instruments (strings, piano). It gives the proceedings a very intimate sound, between this, the duo's hushed voices, and the peaceful songs, it's even quieter and more subdued than anything they've done so far. The mood of introspective reflection never breaks, and almost becomes unbearably powerful on a track like "My Ship Isn't Pretty." Bøe and Øye pull no punches and spare no emotions, they are skilled veterans who know how to format and pace an album. The only thing the record lacks is a song as catchy as "I'd Rather Dance with You," or any songs with drums. It's not really a problem, though, since the overall effect of the album's melodies adds up to something just as powerful. A few of the songs stand out as possible singles, too, like the bossa nova-y "Mrs. Cold" or the almost peppy anti-war song "Rule My World." The lack of drums isn't much of a problem,either, the acoustic guitars that underpin the songs provide all the rhythmic push they need. Adding drums might have spoiled the introspective and feather-light feel of the record. Anyone who's been on their bandwagon all along will be glad of that, as they'll rejoice that Declaration of Dependence turns out to be another autumnal treasure from the Kings.

Played away at Formby on Tuesday night. Another sleepless night the night before, but arrived feeling pretty alive. Got a lift there which helped, and went into the game never have lost a game for Atticus with the white pieces.

Sanjoy Banerjee (132) - Kevin Howard (137)
Merseyside Chess Association, League Division 1
Formby 1 v Atticus 2

1. e4 d6 2. d4 g6 3. Nc3 Bg7 4. e4 Nf6 5. f3 0-0 6. Be3 c5



Black opts for the King's Indian Defence, which is convenient since it's an opening I've just started playing myself with the black pieces, so familiar territory. It's a hypermodern opening, ie. black chooses not to compete for the centre, allowing white to create a target that he hopes to destabilise.

The move 6...c5 offers to sacrifice a pawn. It's a line I discovered playing online correspondence chess against my old schoolfriend Chris only in the last year. Taking the pawn seems to be a bad idea, but I couldn't exactly remember the line either, so instead I decided to keep it simple and decline.

7. Nge2 cxd4 8. Nxd4 Nc6 9. Qd2 Nxd4 10. Bxd4 Be6!?



An interesting move. As mentioned previously, chess is often played according to a positional sense that makes certain moves appear 'natural' or 'unnatural' based on previous experience, taking into account what *may* happen long into the game, rather than immediate tactical concerns. Sometimes the most interesting moves are those that appear unnatural, but are actually what the position requires. I'm not sure this is one of them. Black's attempt to put pressure of c5 is ineffective. In normal circumstances, playing b3 may open white up to tactical threats, since the diagonal to the rook is opened up for black's dark-squared bishop, pinning the now undefended knight on c3. However, since white's bishop is on d4, this threat is redundant. Black's move looks unnatural since it impedes the pawn on e7. Not that this pawn is thinking about going anywhere for the time being, not wanting to weaken its counterpart on d6, all the same b7 looks a better square for the bishop.

11. Be2 Qa5 12. 0-0 Rac8 13. b3 Nd7 14. Bxg7 Kxg7 15. Qd4+ Qe5 16. Qxe5 Nxe5 17. Nb5 Nc6 18. Rfd1 a6 19. Nc3 Ne5



Some hold the view that chess is a psychological game. At this point my opponent broke the silence in the room with the words "Would you like a draw?" I was a little taken aback, since precisely nothing has happened in the game so far. I got up to take a look at the other games, and noticed that all were still in full swing. A glance at our captain Steve's match scorecard on my left confirmed that indeed no results were in. It was my decision.

"I'll play on for a bit," I replied.

Why take a draw for the sake of it in a position that still has so much life in it? Looking back, I wouldn't change a thing. I'm not sure I even agree that the position is equal. I would argue that white is better.

However, the offer changes the psychological balance. To an extent, I have been playing rather passively throughout the game so far. Suddenly, with nothing having apparently changed, I am now by implication "playing for a win". Did this affect my play? I don't think so, but let's see how the game continues...

20. Nd5 Bxd5 21. exd5 a5 22. f4 Nd7 23. Bg4 f5 24. Bf3 Nc5 25. g3 h6 26. Rd2 g5 27. fxg5 hxg5



Okay now we're talking. We've been playing for two hours now and the competitive juices are flowing. It's knight versus bishop. The position may still be equal, but no longer symmetrical. There is going to be blood on the carpet, and I feel confident it's not going to be mine!

On the other hand, how do you play knight versus bishop? I love positions like this. The pieces are rated equal, but their attributes are very different. As a long range piece, the bishop is stronger the more space there is to take advantage of. I'd like to create action on both sides of the board so that my bishop can affect both, against a knight that takes time to manoeuvre from one side to the other. However, for the time being, my bishop looks as if it may get hemmed in. The knight is ably positioned on a temporary outpost and wants to exploit the opportunity to come into d3 or e4 with devastating effect.

I'd like to play b4 to force open the queenside and create the opportunity to attack along the b-file, but I have to play either Rb1 first. It's a calculated risk though, since the move also weakens the pawn on c4 and while it kicks the knight away, does so only temporarily since Nd7 and Ne5 positions this piece in arguably an even more effective square.

I also want to challenge black's desire to play g5-g4, since if black's pawns must further restrict my bishops maneouvrability, I'd rather have the h-pawn advanced on h4 rather than h2.

Finally a look at the clocks shows that we are both starting to till the soil of time trouble. I have around 18 minutes left to play my last eight moves until the time control. My opponent has around fifteen. But even if we both arrive safely at 35 moves, with so much play still left in the game I need to stand tall as we get deeper into it.

This is the position I currently have set up on my board at home. Sitting smoking and drinking cups of tea in the living room, I will probably stare at it a while this coming week, moving pieces around, wondering whether I should have won or not.

28. h4 gxh4 29. gxh4 Rf6 30. Rb1 Rh6 31. h5 Ne4 32. Rg2+ Kf7 33. Rf1 Nf6 34. Rh2 Rg8+ 35. Kh1 Rg5



Funny how sometimes the greatest complexity in a game arrives just when time is running short. We reach the time control with my opponent down to his last thirty seconds. We are using electronic clocks though and he hasn't miscalculated. If there are children reading this, you might want to cover their eyes now...!!

The truth is I've fucked up! I thought I could push the pawn to h5 and leave it safe. I also thought I could prosper along the open files. I didn't want to trade the bishop for the knight and there are threats all the way along. Black to his credit has threaded his way through them though, and has arrived at move 35 with suddenly a winning game. After 34.Rh2, it is my turn to offer the draw. With only a couple of minutes left, I want to test my opponent's nerve. He is markedly better, but the game is a long way from being over. Does he dare to risk it? He does. Fifteen minutes isn't a long time though, and it is still going to be anyone's game.

36. Rf2 Nxh5 37. Bg2 Ng3+ 38. Kg1 Rh5 39. Rxh5 Rxh5 40. Bf3 Rg5 41. Kh2 f4 42. Kh3 Kf6 43. Bg4 Ke5 44. Kh4 Rg7 45. Be6 Rh7+ 46. Kg4 Rg7+



We are both left with less than three minutes on the clock, and as such this is where my recording of the moves ends. But suffice it to say that within a dozen or so moves black manages successfully to march through to queen his f-pawn and wins the game. We both make a couple of errors in the time scramble. A couple of times I play an illegal move, which I believe should have forfeited the game. My opponent doesn't claim the win though, which is just as well, since we learn afterwards that an illegal move in the last five minutes isn't immediate forfeiture, the rule is that my opponent should receive an extra minute. Equally, my opponent apparently left his knight en prise at one stage while bringing his pawn through, which if I had captured would have turned the tables, however I missed this. When I resigned, checkmate was a move away, and my opponent still had ninety seconds or so, as did I.

An horrific way to finish and as I stood up after the defeat, I looked at Pasquale and could not help but laugh. I was a little shell-shocked but still remembered to express to my opponent that he had played a good game. I can take defeat well, yet I was physically and emotionally spent.

I came home exhausted, and feeling very low, scatterbrained and psychologically vulnerable. I'd had some good news the previous day in fact, and actually there was nothing to be genuinely upset about. But tiredness does this to me. I went to bed at around midnight, knowing I would be asleep in minutes, and that I would sleep long and deep, which is a blessing in itself.

I was still gutted to lose though. I don't regret declining the draw when it was offered. I would do so again 100 times out of a 100. However, knowing that I am now looking at a record of 1 draw and 2 defeats for the season makes me worry a little. I am learning quickly that I need to be stronger in the last hour of a game. Three times now in almost as many weeks I've seen a strong position capitulate during the last pressure hour. This may sound ridiculous, but I'm starting to think I might need to improve my physical fitness. I suppose it depends how seriously I want to take my chess now. I feel comfortable at this level. I'm starting to believe I can genuinely make the next step up, and on towards the 140-150 level. The ability is there, but there's just a little lack of psychological stamina. Maybe I'm getting carried away though. I just lost a bad game, that's all...

The first time we flew in
It was cheap and cramped
The vodka running out half-way across the Atlantic
Even the steward screamed and joined in it
We didn't think we were going to make it
Now we're stretched out in wide, furry seats
Flicking through menus
A walk to the bar and there's as much screw-top champagne as we can drink
We're so easy
Taking turns having our photos taken
Sitting in front of small windows
Decanters of cheap whiskey in our hands
Drive into Manhattan on a date with a starlet who's just talent
That's what people pay the money to see
Who are we to argue?
Five hours now it's been going on
And still we're watching all of it
Can you really believe all this?
Can he really lie in bed at night and marvel at his own genius?
When do you lose the ability to step back
And get a sense of your own ridiculousness?
They're only songs
Midnight, and it's all over
Now it can really make us laugh
We're standing on our heads drinking sours of Crystal Schnapps
Now we're unable to step back or forward
Swallowing a swallow
Tasting it again, it's not so unpleasant
Perhaps it's an acquired taste
The first time, it makes you sick
Then, little by little, it becomes delicious
Showbiz people
Always there to be interested in what you say
We are artists; we are sensitive and important
We nod our heads earnestly
Already half-way down the champagne
On our way to leaving the place dry
A $2,000 bar bill
Showbiz picks up the tab
And we're on our way laughing
Laughing at what?
Los Angeles, eight days in
And our sense of irony's running pretty thin
All the friends we've made
It's 2 am, it's closing time at the Dresden
Marty and Layton play one last sleepy "Strangers in the Night"
And the last of the martinis dribble down our chins
We're sitting, chasing the conservation around the table
Jesus, how long have I been in this state?
The limousine's still waiting outside
Anything you want to do?
Anywhere you want to go?
We're on our way to the airport and a plane to Vegas
So many nights lying in bed shaking
Dreaming of pushing my daughter around the supermarket
The joy of seeing all those colours and shapes reflected in her wide eyes
My head leaning on the window
And we're driving through the empty L.A. streets
And everything seems silent and beautiful
A guy's face hits the floor
Police revolvers glistening in the streetlight
Onto Melrose and lurching through a sea of Halloween transvestites
The flight's cancelled, but it doesn't matter
We turn this corner to a way that takes us wherever
Up to Sunset
We creep up the drive to the Shattuck
The suite Belushi died in
Or the one Morrison hung out of the window
Oh, I'll go for Jim's
I would fancy a little window-hanging myself, tonight, man
Straight over to the mini-bar
Open the champagne -- one sip and it's left to wake up to
Anyone hungry?
A team of uniformed waiters lay out an elaborate table for all us to ignore
Oh, the irony
How we're used to living
Back in London on a cold Friday night
Do you want another drink?
Well, I could try
Perhaps we could make it to the Atlantic
600 yards, twenty minutes later
We're pushing through the waiting crowd, all fish eyes
An exclusive door policy
Exclusively for arseholes
And tonight? Well, a nod of our heads, and we're inside
Falling down the red, velvety stairs
Limbs flaying, hands searching for something to steady
Pick ourselves up, nothing broken
Just aches in the morning
No one seems to notice
I find a table, champagne arrives
I've been so drunk, I sit and look at you
We try and talk for the first time in a long time
Drunken confessions
You shiver, it made you feel sick
We use the rent money to pay the bill
Bumping shoulders, we stumble out into Soho
Slipping over the sleeping bags
Shouting for taxis

[Susan Polgar is the eldest of the three Polgar sisters, who were taught to play chess by their father Laszlo, an educationalist who sought to prove that children could make exceptional achievements if trained in a specialist subject from a very early age.

All three sisters achieve women's grandmaster status, however it was the youngest, Judit, who became a world's top ten player in her own right and consequently regularly played and at one time or another beat all of her rivals at the elite super GM echelon of the game.

In a famous incident, Judit Polgar was in a winning position against world champion Garry Kasparov, who then quite illegally took back the move he had just played. Polgar did nothing to object, which she later explained by saying she was aware no arbiter had been present and did not see any alternative. However, unfortunately for Kasparov, the incident was caught quite clearly on camera.]

"Boys and girls approach the game of chess very differently. Most boys are results-oriented and focus on winning and losing. Girls are very different; they have a greater appreciation for the artistic and social aspect of chess."

[original article at http://www.chesscafe.com/text/polgar45.pdf

The Difference Between Boys and Girls in Chess

Can female players be as good in chess as male players?
The answer to the above question is, “yes.”

But then how come very few female players can compete on the same level as
their male counterpart? That is the $64,000 question, yet it seems that very few people are concerned about finding the answer. I will discuss the reasons forthis and then I will offer my solutions for change.

Social Acceptance
In general, society does not encourage or really accept the concept of girls playing chess. That makes it difficult to get girls involved in chess and even more difficult to maintain their interest.

Family Acceptance
There is also little family acceptance for girls playing chess. Many parents do not really understand or play chess well themselves. Some do not understand the benefits of their daughters playing chess. Therefore, if the
girls are not encouraged to play chess, it is more natural for them not to play at all or to abandon it quickly.

This is similar to the stereotype of boys playing with cars and trucks, while
girls play with Barbie dolls. Boys don’t play with Barbie dolls because it is
generally considered a girl thing. Many parents consider chess as a boy thing.

Opportunities
This point directly links to the social and family acceptance issues. Because ofthe lack of family and social acceptance, fewer parents actually invest the time and money to encourage their daughters to play chess. And the lack of
encouragement or assistance directly leads to fewer girls taking chess seriously.

Intimidation
Because the ratio between girls and boys at tournaments are so skewed (9 to 1
boys vs. girls), girls often get very intimidated. And because girls have fewer opportunities to learn and play it leads to poor results, which leads to
discouragement and eventually they quit. In addition, boys are usually much
more rough and competitive; many girls are teased and rather than fighting
back, they just don’t come back.

Different approach to the game
Boys and girls approach the game of chess very differently. Most boys are
results-oriented and focus on winning and losing. Girls are very different; they have a greater appreciation for the artistic and social aspect of chess. The problem we face is that most people expect girls to learn the game and enjoy it the same way as boys do. They don’t, and we as educators, parents or coaches need to understand this. If we do not recognize this differences in how boys and girls approach the game, how can we find a solution to fix it?

Different interest
If we want to keep girls in chess, we must keep the girls interested in the game. We must find out what makes chess fun for the girls and what motivates them to maintain their interest.

Physiological and Physical differences
As they get older, girls tend to develop faster in many ways. They develop
different interests and are often treated differently; they also have different social problems. It is not easy being the “only” female player at a tournament. Many older girls have to fend off unwanted advances and are often subjected to inappropriate remarks.

Being chess pioneers, my sisters and I faced many of these issues while
competing in a male dominated chess environment. No female player is
immune to this. But I was able to focus on my chess because I was encouraged
and supported by my parents, and I was given the opportunities to learn and
compete in chess.

Chess Development and Improvement
We do not have specialized chess development and improvement courses geared towards girls, something that addresses the differences between boys and girls
approach to the game. The same goes with chess camps or chess classes. The
activities and methods of teaching chess are more orientated for boys
than girls.

Different standard and expectation
A chess rating is just number that measures the competitive success of a
player. Yet, as I mentioned above, girls are much less competitive than boys. So if everything revolves around ratings, can we expect the same success in girls?

Career Longevity
Female players often must interrupt their careers in order to raise a family.

---

Solutions:

Now I will offer some of my solutions to the above problems.

Through my numerous experiences with thousands of young female players
and their parents across the country, I discovered that girls do need and want a separate chess environment in which they are comfortable. Only in such an environment can you encourage more girls to stay, play and learn chess at a
much higher ratio and level. This would give them a chance to advance and
catch up with the boys.

According to the statistics from the USCF, our federation is losing girls at an alarming rate after 3rd and 4th grade. For years the USCF has been unable to correct this problem on its own. I was asked to try and reverse this trend and my solutions have been to:

- Create more fun and exciting events for girls to motivate them to stay in
chess longer

- Create a better atmosphere so young girls will be less intimidated

- Create activities that girls would enjoy and appreciate more

- Create more college scholarships as an incentive for girls to achieve
better results

- Create a free training program to help the more serious and more
talented girls excel to be top-level players

- And much more...

All of the above initiatives have been funded by the Susan Polgar Foundation.
My idea has always been that the more girls who successfully play chess, the
more motivated they will be to remain in chess, which will increase the amount
of good players. It’s all about the numbers.

The Susan Polgar National Invitational for Girls, in only its second year, had
more participants than the Denker Tournament of High School Champions, which has been around for over two decades. We awarded $155,000 in scholarships (from UTD), prizes and stipends without any funding from the USCF. The
recently concluded Susan Polgar National Open Championship for Girls in Corpus Christi, Texas had 212 participants and we awarded laptops computers, chess scholarships to Texas Tech University and countless other prizes. This shows that girls do want to compete if they are given the opportunity.

Now, I would like to announce a new initiative that was suggested by a
member of the USCF Scholastic Council:

The program is the Susan Polgar All-Stars Girl’s Chess Team. Its goal is to recognize girls who already excel in chess and it to serve as a motivational tool for others. All girls who qualify for the team will be nationally recognized, they will receive a special Susan Polgar All-Stars jacket, a special All-Stars Certificate, and an invitation to the exclusive and intensive Susan Polgar All-Stars Girl’s Training Program conducted by me personally, similar to the historic 2004 US Women’s Olympiad Training Program that I created. This program will greatly assist them in improving their chess skills.

Below are the tentative criteria for the Susan Polgar All-Stars Girl’s Team:
Age Minimum Peak Rating
8 & Under 1500
9 1600
10 1700
11 1800
12 1900
13 2000
14 2100
15 2150
16 2200
17 2250
18 2300

In addition, any girl who is within 50 points from the above criteria can apply for special exemptions to attend this exclusive training program. It will not be an easy task for girls to qualify for the Susan Polgar All-Stars Girl’s Chess Team.

There is no stopping any young female player from qualifying for another
award such as the Trophies Plus All-America’s Chess Team. They can
qualify and accept either award or both, it is entirely up to the players
who earned it. Therefore, we are not offending any individual young female
players.

This is a non-profit initiative to help the USCF and young female players in
the United States. As I mentioned above, girls are dropping out at an alarming rate. We need to reverse this trend before we can expect to produce large numbers of good female players.

To insist on keeping the same system in dealing with girls is simply
irresponsible. Standing still and not doing anything is simply unacceptable to
me.

Here are some quotes from USCF members on this issue:

"I support Susan Polgar on this issue. Girls and women drop out of overthe-
board chess at such an alarming level. Susan’s idea is a start in the
right direction. The problem is the great importance placed on the girls’
over-the-board rating. Just like any scholastic player, most are not
going to become an expert or greater during their life time. True, you
need to have the best players to get the coverage or sponsors needed to
build stronger and better players … It could be best if there are girl’s
only tournaments. The more active girls around, will, in time, make
more active women players."

Douglas M. Forsythe, President - Grand
Rapids Area Chess Club

"As a professional sociologist, I believe that Susan Polgar is correct to
say that women are socialized to be more passive, less competitive and
more likely to not protest against authority then are their males
counterparts …I can reference a million research articles by social
scientist if I need to prove this point, but it is my opinion that Susan’s
work with young female chess players is of vital importance to insure
not only equality of opportunity for women, but also to the future
generation of women who can grow up in a society that supports their
playing of leisure and tournament chess in a democratic and free
society."

Dennis Doyle of Joliet, Illinois

"...on the merits of the general issue of ‘women’s chess,’ I think Polgar
is right. When our world society is completely gender-neutral then I
don’t think there will be a demand for girls’ teams, women’s titles,
women’s championships (club, local, state, national, or FIDE),
women’s prizes, and so forth. But we’re not at that point yet."

"Petrel,"
a USCF member

"The Polgar plan offers an additional opportunity to girls and is
intended as an encouragement for further participation in all that chess
offers … Additional opportunities, as long as they do not result in
prohibiting women from participation elsewhere or imply some innate
inequality, are just that – opportunities. “Alaskan Bishop,” a USCF
member I can’t cite studies, all I know is what I see as a chess group leader and parent of a chess girl. Somewhere around third to fifth grade, when the
genders start to separate socially, girls fall out of chess. The girls I
know who have stuck with the game have had all of the following kinds
of support...

- a parent who’s a strong player
- private teaching
- another girl who’s a friend in their club
- strong parental support – (example: parents of girls tend to go to
every single tournament, and they stay all day. It’s awkward for
a fifth grade girl to go off to a tournament with a carload of her
male peers.)

If you are serious about getting larger numbers of girls' active in chess, you must figure out how to target girls and keep them in the game. Separate programming for girls – at whatever level – is one way to accomplish this. There may well be other ways, but if there are other plans on the table, they’re not widely known."

"Akzidenz," another
USCF member

In conclusion, girls can compete equally against boys and they can excel in
chess if they are given the same opportunities. Only then we can expect a
growth in both numbers and strength. My goal is to eventually close the gap
between boys and girls in chess. My next major girl’s event is the Susan
Polgar World Open Championship for Girls under 21 in Las Vegas, Nevada in June 16-18, 2006. More laptop computers and scholarships will be awarded and, of course, much more fun!

Okay Sanjoy, you can come down off the step now. Thanks to Candice and mooism for their help. I had a little think about this again this morning (after a decent night's sleep) and think it makes sense now.

Here are the results of the Swedish jury:

[1] How long does it take the moon to complete 1 orbit of the earth?

27 days, 7 hours, 43 minutes and 11.6 seconds


[2] Does the moon rotate about its own axis, and if so, how long does one full cycle take?

27 days, 7 hours, 43 minutes and 11.6 seconds


[3] Is it correct that the moon always presents the same face to the earth. However, does this mean then, that there is no such thing as 'the dark side of the moon'. All parts of the moon's surface are at one time or another, facing the sun, just that we only ever see one face.

Yes, the same face of the moon is always facing the earth. The dark side of the moon is just the side that is facing away from the sun at any given point. All parts of the moon's surface are on the dark side once per orbit, just as they are on earth, we call this 'night'... ;-)

[4] Where is the sun, relative to the earth and moon when we see a full moon?

All three are lined up in the order: sun, earth, moon


[5] Where is the sun, relative to the earth and moon when we see a new moon?

All three are lined up in the order: sun, moon, earth

(Note that as a consequence the moon will not be in the sky at night time, since we are facing in the opposite direction.)

I had a peculiar conversation with my friend Dave at work today. I have to confess I feel a little sheepish and fat-headed, but some assistance would be much appreciated.

It was about the motion of the moon around the earth. Now, remember, this is the stuff you nailed as a kid, right?

Let's start with the stuff we know.

- The earth spins on its axis at a rate of one complete cycle each 24 hours, which we refer to, by convention, as a day.

- The earth orbits the sun at a rate of one complete cycle every 365.25 days, which we refer to, by convention, as a year.

- The moon orbits the earth. It is visible at night, but will show a different perspective according to its relative position to the sun. The 'phases' of the moon, from one full moon to the next for example, lasts 28 days.

---

Dave was contending that when the moon orbits the earth, the same face of the moon always faces the earth. Thinking back, I think he may have been right here. However, I misunderstood him to be suggesting that earth and moon are locked in geostationary orbit, ie. the moon orbits the earth at the same rate that the earth spins, and presents the same face to the earth as it orbits.

I remembered that this was the case with Pluto and its moon Charon, but not the earth, and pointed this out.

However, I also seemed to remember something about 'the dark side of the moon', such that one half of the moon never faces the sun, whereas the other side constantly does (and concluded) and suggested, even though it seemed unlikely, that the moon actually rotated so that it retained the same perspective relative to the sun.

Thinking about this now, it's obvious that the earth is not in geostationary orbit relative to the earth, since this would mean that the moon was only visible to one side of the globe, and would constantly be in the same position in the sky, to a spectator at any point on the earth's surface.

However, I'm still confused.

At the risk of being declared the village idiot, having a dunce's cap placed atop my head and receiving serial kickings about the fleshy regions, if anyone is able to answer the following question, I would be eternally grateful.

[1] How long does it take the moon to complete 1 orbit of the earth?

[2] Does the moon rotate about its own axis, and if so, how long does one full cycle take?

[3] Is it correct that the moon always presents the same face to the earth. However, does this mean then, that there is no such thing as 'the dark side of the moon'. All parts of the moon's surface are at one time or another, facing the sun, just that we only ever see one face.

[4] Where is the sun, relative to the earth and moon when we see a full moon?

[5] Where is the sun, relative to the earth and moon when we see a new moon?

---

Bonus marks will be awarded to anyone who constructs a fully working orrery and gifts it to me.

Clock management is a tricky skill to master. It's like reading a book when you have half an hour before you must leave to catch a train.

I remember watching the Britain v China match at St.Georges Hall in Liverpool a couple of years ago. On the opening day, British No.2 Nigel Short was playing 18 year old Chinese player Wang Hao who getting close to the time limit. In a position that looked (to me) pretty much equal, I watched Wang's clock steadily dwindling. The time control they were playing meant that in addition to their starting allocation (two hours I think), each player also received an increment of 30 seconds after each move they played. Still it appeared to me that Wang was getting into serious trouble.

The opportunity for a draw by repetition arose, but when after a couple of repetitions, the Chinese player declined the opportunity, I sat up in my seat, realising that he felt the game was there to win. At one point, he was down to his last 30 seconds, but assessing the position correctly went on to convert.

Managing the clock is a balancing act. There are some players who prefer playing lightning chess, ten seconds per move, or perhaps a minute on the clock each. It's always pretty impressive to see someone who can do this well, however it also absolves a player from having to think too deeply. Play is by instinct.

In truth, any player can play allegro if he wishes. You can up the ante and put pressure on your opponent by playing rapidly, but three hours is a long time. When I was first playing at matches in the Chester and District League for our school team (against adults!), I remember the injuction used to be to 'sit on your hands'. Youth is impetuous and young players will lose a depressing number of games by playing a move prematurely and blundering.

The difference as you get older is only one of degree. Playing too quickly too soon is a little like a motor racing driving who is outbraked on a corner. To stick to your guns, even when under time pressure, and refuse to play too hastily, takes nerve.

Yet I have also noticed that it is not always easy to change gears. Some time ago, I found that I would tend to play better if I devoted a fair degree of time to the opening. I would jot down the time I had taken after 10 moves, and thereafter for each set of five moves. If I played too rapidly early on, it seemed to me I would never get as deeply absorbed in the game as I would otherwise. Equally though, taking time early on means you need to be aware of the need to slowly ease down on the accelerator pedal as you reach the middlegame. Sometimes this can be a challenge, depending on the position, yet it has to be done. It's a game of Russian roulette if you have to hammer out the last twenty moves in five minutes on demand.

Oddly though, I have also found that it assists me not to think about the game particularly when it is my opponent's turn to move. When I was younger I thought that this was a bad habit on my part, down to laziness, which I struggled to snap out of. However, it not necessarily the case that calculating a position when it's your opponent's turn is either necessary or desirable.

Last year, after playing a match, I would come home and put the moves through a very basic chess program on my mobile phone. It is no substitute for a decent engine, however, I found that perhaps only a few of the moves it suggested would mirror those we had actually played in the game. As often as not, the chess program would find ideas (especially attacking ideas) that I had not even considered.

To extend the principle, even players of a similar strength, who believe they play to a certain standard, may be surprised at how rarely their opponent will play the moves they predict. Once it was customary, on reaching a time control for black to 'seal' his last move. This meant that he would commit a move on paper, but that this would remain unknown to his opponent. This meant that when both players were analysing the position overnight, each would be assessing a position where it was his opponent's turn to play.

If there is an obvious strong move to be played, it makes little difference. In effect you are analysing with yourself to play. However, if there are a wide range of candidate moves, the task is much more difficult.

Similarly, when sat at the board, calculating immediate tactics without knowing what your opponent can do, can be misleading. In the event that he plays something you hadn't considered, at best you will have been wasting your time, at worst you will have achieve a false understanding of the position.

Switching off after you have played your move has another advantage however. I remember Michael Atherton in his autobiography describing how he would concentrate intense only for the period when the bowler started on his run-up, up to the point that he had played his shot. Against a fast bowler, this may be less than ten seconds. However, for the period in between. Perhaps thirty seconds or so, he would try to switch off altogether. In his view, it was not possible to retain concentration for six or seven hours at the crease, without such mental breaks.

The analogy isn't entirely suitable for chess. If there were no clocks, it would be entirely satisfactory to switch off altogether when it is your opponent's turn, however the need to manage your time allocation means that you have to assess the position throughout the game. Nevertheless, it's no bad thing to save your batteries, now and then, if you can.



This is the position in my game against Bart McHugh of Widnes II last night after 35.Re1

By playing his 35th move, white has reached the time control. We started out with 75 minutes apiece on the clock to play our first 35 moves, after which the clocks are then turned back 15 minutes each and the game completed in the remaining time.

After playing my next move, I spoke for the first time since we had begun to say 'I think that's 35, and with my opponent indicating agreement, I stopped the clocks. It turned out that he had a little over 4 minutes remaining and I had just short of four and a half. Yet, when white played his 35th move, I had some ten minutes left. The temptation when so near to the time control is to snatch at the last move. It's uncanny how often this causes a player's downfall.

In the particular position above, I had a choice to make whether to place my knight or my bishop on a4 (or neither). I couldn't see a definitive way of breaking through, and therefore had to judge which move looked more promising. However, I was also aware that I had a slight advantage on the clock, and could afford to take a few minutes to think about it.

While I was thinking, I could sense that my advantage was slowly being eaten away, however I was not going to rush it. I wanted to stay ahead a little on the clock, if I could, since the time control is a little like reaching extra-time in a football match. A whole extra half hour may seem a lot, but if the game is still in the balance, it's surprising how often you can find that the time melts away and you are back where you were.

It's possible I made the wrong choice. Looking at it briefly afterwards, my friend Pasquale, who had finished his game on board 3 for us, suggested a better idea is 35.Ba4, in which case after the exchange, the rook retreats to b6 and the knight aims for d3 via b2, after which the rooks double on the seventh rank.

Quite possibly so, however in general terms, I was satisfied I hadn't rushed into the move, which could have been tempting in the circumstances, and overall, I wasn't too dissatified with my clock management on the night. Twice I had ventured outside to smoke a cigarette. The first time, the time away from the board was entirely at my opponent's expense. I came back to find it was still his move, and in fact he took almost 20 minutes on the one move (11.0-0). The second time I came back to find we had shared the burden. Still I find it's not always a bad thing to get up and stretch my legs. Bizarrely, sometimes the strongest moves occur to you when you are outside and not even aware you are thinking about the game. However, it's a risk of sorts, another calculated balancing act if you like. If I had chosen my moments badly, I could have gifted my opponent the time. But then, of course, I'm an addict!

I'm still feeling a bit miffed about the game last night. In truth it could have gone either way. But I'm just not a fan of draws. As the Americans say, it's like kissing your sister!

I wasn't sure how I would cope with having a chess match tonight, since I had an exam in the afternoon. On the plus side, I got to have a lie-in, which was just as well since I didn't get to sleep til after 5am. Still, I didn't get out of bed til midday either.

When I got up it turned out it was a beautiful sunny day, and I even managed to get to the exam on time, which is a bonus. It went alright. It will be nice to get my second year courses out of the way. Just the exam tomorrow and then I'm sorted. Already meant to have started another one from 1st October, but I haven't looked at it yet.

The chess match was satisfactory I guess. I felt my opponent played the opening a little passively, but for the second time in two weeks I found I was able to impose my will on the game, which is a positive sign at this level.

I was feeling pretty good about 20 or so moves in, but then it went to and fro a little bit. My opponent got a promising looking kingside attack going and I felt on the ropes, but I don't think he made the most of it and I was able to tie it up and managed to break through myself on the queenside. With time running out, I seemed to have a significantly better position, although a last throw of the dice on the kingside and my opponent was able to secure a draw.

The game lasted a couple of moved longer than necessary, since I was the last to finish and we needed a win to level the match so I was trying to get the win on time with both of us flashing the pieces around. It's possible there is a draw by repetition in the sequence, although the draw was agreed a couple of moves later in any case.

A game I perhaps ought to have won, but I don't feel particularly ruthless at the moment. Playing stronger players is a little bit of a novelty after the last couple of seasons and being a little bit fearful that it's all going to go horribly wrong, I'm finding a good showing is pleasing enough in itself. Really I should be kicking myself though. Points at this level are hard enough won without letting players off the hook when I've done most of the running in a game.

A relief at least to notch my first points of the season though. I had a horrible feeling it could turn into a mirror image of last season. Half a point tonight and at least I'm off and running. Could do with having a proper look at this game at some point though. Didn't really get a chance since we were last to finish. We had a quick look and there may be some better ideas, but it's much of a muchness really.

Bart McHugh (141) - Sanjoy Banerjee (132)

1.d4 Nf6 2.Nc3 g6 3.Bf4 c6 4.Nf3 d6 5.h3 Bg7 6.Qd2 Nbd7 7.Bh6 0-0 8.Bxg7 Bxg7 9.e3 b5 10.Bd3 Bb7 11.0-0 a6 12.a3 c5 13.Bd2 Rc8 14.Rad1 Ne4 15. Nxe4 Bxe4 16.c3 c4 17.Nh2 e6 18.f3 Bb7 19.e4 f5 20.Qe3 Qh4 21.e5 d5 22.f4 Qe7 23.Qg3 a5 24.Nf3 Rh8 25.h4 Nf8 26.Kf2 b4 27.Ra1 bxc3 28.bxc3 Bc6 29.Rh1 h5 30.Bd1 Rb8 31.Nd2 Rb2 32.Qe3 Nd7 33.Kg3 Rhb8 34.Kh3 Nb6 35.Re1 Na4 36.Bf3 Rb6 37.Bd1 Qb7 38.Bxa4 Bxa4 39.Rec1 Qe7 40.Qe1



40...Bb3 41.Nf3 Ba2 42.a4 Qa3 43.Qg3 Qxa4 44.Qg5 Qd7? (44...Qe8 would have preserved the advantage) 45.Qf6+ Qg8 46.Qxg6+ Qg7 47.Qe8+ Qf8 48.Qg6+ Qg7 49.Qe8+ Qf8 50.Qg6+ Qg7 51.Qe8+ Qf8 52.Qg6+ Kh8 53.Qxh5+ Kg8
Draw agreed

[14.10.09 The final result of the match was as follows:
Merseyside Chess Association, League Division 1

Atticus II 3.5 - 4.5 Widnes II

1 b Stancak, Andrej 176B 0-1 Brown, Martin 187A
2 w Boumphrey, Luke S 173C 1-0 Hughes, Robert C 172A
3 b Rabadan, Pasquale 158B 0-1 Chadwick, Chris 162B
4 w Stuttard, David 158C 0-1 Dugdale, Tom 156A
5 b Suttie, Neil A 152B 0-1 Jones, Steven 143A
6 w Amir-Afshari, Farhad 134C 1-0 Ellis, Gareth 143B
7 b Banerjee, Sanjoy K 132C ½-½ McHugh, Bart 141B
8 w Burge, Steve J 123A 1-0 Kelly, Andy 132A

The next match is away against Formby on Tuesday October 27th. It should be a close match, with the teams of similar strength on all boards]

I went down to the pond at lunchtime. The sun was warm and the sky a pure blue but there was a chill to the wind. I saw some mallards swimming past, their webbed feet, true to form, lapping beneath the surface. In a flash, catching one swim past in the sun, I found myself aware how magnificent it was. Quite unlike me to see the world in these terms usually.

I found myself thinking about what I had written last night, and was suddenly reminded of the encounter between Spandrell and Rampion in Aldous Huxley's Point Counter Point. One man, on the verge of suicide, clutching at the idea of the there being something beyond death, some manifestation of something transcendant in life. The other, refusing to be swayed. Unwittingly cruel and remorseless in his logic.

It's a fantastic tragic piece of literature. When I was eighteen or nineteen and I first read this, I was with Rampion all the way. Spandrell is portrayed as a cruel and weak character, but I only recently realised, he may not be Huxley's hero, but there is something definitely of the anti-hero about him.

I have a copy somewhere, but I didn't want to start opening all my boxes tonight. Sadly, I couldn't find it all on the internet. I had to copy out the excerpt below in long hand, and I'm afraid it comes to an abrupt halt. First chance I get I'll finish it though...

---

Spandrell was very insistent that they should come without delay. The 'heilige Dankgesang eines genesen an die Gottheit, in der lydischen Tonart' simply must be heard.

'You can't understand anything until you have heard it,' he declared. 'It proves all kinds of things - God, the soul, goodness - unescapably. It's the only real proof that exists; the only one, because Beethoven was the only man who could get his knowledge over in expression. You *must* come.'

'Most willingly,' said Rampion, 'But...'

Spandrell interrupted him. 'I heard quite by accident yesterday that the A minor quartet had been recorded for the gramophone. I rushed out and bought a machine and the records specially for you.'

'For me? But why this generosity?'

'No generosity,' Spandrell answered laughing. 'Pure selfishness. I want you to hear and confirm my opinion.'

'But why?'

'Because I believe in you and, if you confirm, I shall believe in myself.'

'What a man!' mocked Rampion. 'Ought to join the Church of Rome and have a confessor.'

'But you *must* come.' He spoke earnestly.

'But not now,' said Mary.

'Not to-day,' her husband echoed, wondering as he spoke why the man was so strangely insistent. What was the matter with him? The way he moved and spoke, the look in his eyes. ...So excited. 'I have innumerable things to do this afternoon.'

'Then to-morrow.'

As though he were drunk, Rampion was reflecting.

'Why not the day after?' he said aloud. 'It would be much easier for me. And the machine won't fly away in the interval.'

Spandrell uttered his noiseless laugh. 'No, but *I* may,' he said. 'I shall probably be gone by the day after to-morrow.'

'You hadn't told us you were going away,' said Mary. 'Where?'

'Who knows?' Spandrell answered, laughing once more. 'All *I* know is that I shan't be here any more.'

'All right,' said Rampion, who had been watching him curiously, 'I'll make it to-morrow.' Why is he so melodramatic? he wondered.

Spandrell took his leave.

'What was wrong with him?' said Rampion, when he was gone.

'I didn't notice anything particularly wrong with him,' Mary answered.

Rampion made a gesture of impatience. 'You wouldn't notice the Last Judgment,' he said. 'Didn't you see that he was holding down his excitement. Like the lid of a saucepan on the boil - holding it down. And that melodramatic way of laughing. Like the conscious villain in the play...'

'But was he acting?' said Mary, 'was he playing the fool for our benefit?'

'No, no. He was genuine all right. But when you're genuinely in the position of the conscious villain in the melodrama, you inevitably begin to behave like the conscious villain. You act in spite of yourself.'

'But what's he being a conscious villain about?'

'How on earth should I know?' said Rampion impatiently. Mary always expected him, by some mysterious and magical intuition, to know everything. Her faith sometimes amused and sometimes pleased, but sometimes also annoyed him. 'Do you take me for Spandrell's father confessor.'

'There's nothing to fly in a rage about.'

'On the contrary,' said Rampion, 'there's practically nothing not to fly in a rage about. If one keeps one's temper, it's because one lives most of the time with one's eyes shut, half asleep. If one were always awake, my God! There wouldn't be much crockery unsmashed.'

He stalked off to his studio.

Spandrell walked slowly eastwards from Chelsea along the river whistling to himself over and over again the opening phrases of the Lydian melody from the 'heilige Dankgesang'. Over and over again. The river stretched away into the hot haze. The music was like water in a parched land. After so many years of drought, a spring, a fountain. A watering-cart rumbled past trailing its artificial shower. The wetted dust was fragrant. That music was a proof, as he had said to Rampion. In the gutter a little torrent was hurrying a crumpled cigarette packet and a piece of orange peel towards the drain. He stopped whistling. The essential horror. Like carting garbage; that was what it had been. Just nasty and unpleasant, like cleaning a latrine. Not terrible so much as stupid, indescribably stupid. The music was a proof; God existed. But only so long as the violins were playing. When the bows were lifted from the strings, what then? Garbage and stupidity, the pitiless drought.

In the Vauxhall Bridge Road he bought a shilling packet of writing-paper and envelopes. For the price of a cup of coffee and a bun he hired a table in a tea-shop. With a stump of pencil he wrote. 'To the Secretary General, Brotherhood of British Freemen. Sir, To-morrow, Wednesday, at five p.m., the murderer of Everard Webley will be at 37 Catskill Street, S.W. 7. The flat is on the second floor. The man will probably answer the bell in person. He is armed and desperate.'

He read it through and was reminded of those communications (written in red ink, to imitate blood, and under the influence of the serial stories in 'Chums' and the 'B.O.P') with which he and Pokinghorne Minor had hoped, at nine years old, to startle and terrify Miss Veal, the matron of their preparatory school. They had been discovered and reported to the head master. Old Nosey had given them three cuts apiece over the buttocks. 'He is armed and desperate.' That was pure Pokinghorne. But if he didn't say it, they wouldn't carry revolvers. And then, why, then it couldn't happen. Nothing would happen. Let it go. He folded the paper and put it into the envelope. There was an essential silliness, as well as an essential nastiness and stupidity. He scribbled the address.

'Well, here we are,' said Rampion, when Spandrell opened his door to them the next afternoon. 'Where's Beethoven? Where's the famous proof of God's existence and the superiority of Jesus's morality?'

'In here.' Spandrell led the way into his sitting-room. The gramophone stood on the table. Four or five records lay scattered near it. 'Here's the beginning of the slow movement,' Spandrell went on, picking up one of them. 'I won't bother you with the rest of the quartet. It's lovely. But the 'heilige Dankgesang' is the crucial part.' He wound up the clockwork; the disc revolved; he lowered the needle of the sound-box on to its grooved surface. A single violin gave out a long note, then another a sixth above, dropped to the fifth (while the second violin began where the first had started), then leapt to the octave, and hung there suspended through two long beats. More than a hundred years before, Beethoven, stone deaf, had heard the imaginary music of

I learnt today that Richard Dawkins' 1976 classic (of a kind) The Selfish Gene is not what I thought it was about at all.

It's a good name for a book isn't it? Well, in some ways. I can appreciate its purpose and yet find it's not exactly my cup of tea. What it suggests, that we will act in our own best interests and will put this before that of others when these conflict, is an extension of an idea in human behaviour that is almost a cliche. Moreover, applied at the genetic level, suggesting not only that this is the way we are hard-coded, but that this characteristic has been instrumental to our survival and evolution as a species, is one of those ideas that sets the heart against the head (but more of this later!).

It's the kind of provocative title that publishers must suggest to authors to ensure that copies are shifted, an international bestseller created. Rather like The God Delusion perhaps!

At least though, with The God Delusion, it does what it says on the t'internet.

Hilariously, after discussing this with some friends and exchanging views on a book we had never opened, I discover that in fact it's actually a much drier book about the nature and characteristics of genetics. I quote:

"In describing genes as being "selfish", the author does not intend (as he states unequivocally in the work) to imply that they are driven by any motives or will—merely that their effects can be accurately described as if they were. The contention is that the genes that get passed on are the ones whose consequences serve their own implicit interests (to continue being replicated), not necessarily those of the organism, much less any larger level. This view explains altruism at the individual level in nature, especially in kin relationships: when an individual sacrifices its own life to protect the lives of kin, it is acting in the interest of its own genes. Some people find this metaphor entirely clear, while others find it confusing, misleading or simply redundant to ascribe mental attributes to something that is mindless. For example, Andrew Brown has written:

"Selfish", when applied to genes, doesn't mean "selfish" at all. It means, instead, an extremely important quality for which there is no good word in the English language: "the quality of being copied by a Darwinian selection process." This is a complicated mouthful. There ought to be a better, shorter word—but "selfish" isn't it."" [source Wikipedia]

I can respect Richard Dawkins as an academic who is simply helping himself to some pudding. The jealously of other academics is often aroused by popularity. AJP Taylor for instance was never forgiven by his fellow historians for his television appearances or his status as a household name (at least at one time). It would not surprise me if Bertrand Russell was similarly reviled by his peers.

Yet Dawkinism repels me because of its consequences. Just as the popularity of The Selfish Gene skyrocketed as Thatcherism purported to explain society as a false notion used as a smokescreen to justify undesirable social and economic behaviour, similarly it depresses me to witness how faddish atheism is at this particular time in our particular society. People talk about atheism these days as if they invented it. Much as it was faddish ten years ago to deplore organised religion yet embrace a liberated spiritualism, or perhaps two thousand years ago to reject the hypocrisy of the Pharisees and embrace Christian morality.

To those who feel atheism is the only logical conclusion, I would point out that religion is often as much metaphor as doctine. Perhaps the Abrahamic tradition loses this more easily, due to its monotheism, but think of the Greek and Roman gods, their domains, whims and abilities. Think of jackal-headed Anubis, or elephant-headed Ganesh. These aren't Gods that exist in a literal way, they are a metaphor for what Avicenna described as 'the ultimate cause'. In the face of the by definition finite nature of human knowledge, in the presence of the by definition infinite nature of unknowledge, a little more humility does not go amiss.

At this point though, I will leave Richard Dawkins to the masses. Personally speaking, if I want to read about the development of evolutionary theory and our understanding of genetics, I'll go to my bookshelf and pick up Marek Kohn's A Reason For Everything: Natural Selection and the English Imagination (2004). But to judge by the volume of dust on the dust jacket of this volume, this is a desire that I have as yet found elusive.

It struck me yesterday that there is more than one way to skin a dead cat. The conventional way a game of chess is annotated, in games collections and the like, is in 'move order' as it were. Start at the beginning and let the game unfold, making comments along the way. It makes sense, but it's not the only way.

The drawback is that, as noted above, a chess game is a complex beast, and saying everything you want to say about each move or group of moves as they occur, might not be the best way. Certainly, I've never found it particularly appealing working through games in this way. I might claim to be a fan of the game, but it's funny how quickly this dissipates when I sit in front of a chess board, with The Collected Games of Mikhail Tal, say, in hand, and try to work through a game from start to finish, hoping I might discover a thing of beauty, and usually putting the book down midway through the game, feeling tetchy and distracted.

An alternative might be to give a high-level view and then drill down. The satisfaction for the reader is that they get to see a whole game, even if they only go as far as the 'brief overview'. How far they want to go, how much detail they then want to pick into, then rests with them.

By complete coincidence (I'm sure you'll agree), it's also more fun for me!

---

Stephen Philp (132) - Sanjoy Banerjee (132)

Atticus Chess Club - Friendly Game / Winter Tournament
Time Control: 75 mins for 35 moves, then 15 mins to complete.

1. c4 Nf6 2. Nc3 g6 3. d4 Bg7 4. e4 d6 5. Be2 0-0 6. Be3 Nbd7 7. f4 c5 8. d5 a6 9. Qc2 Rb8
10. Nh3 b5 11. Nf2 bxc4 12. Bxc4 Qb6 13. b3 Ne8 14. g3 f5 15. exf5 Rxf5 16. Rd1 Qb7
17. g4 Rf8 18. g5 Nb6 19. 0-0 Nxc4 20. bxc4 Bf5 21. Qd2 Qb4 22. Rb1 Bxb1 23. Rxb1 Bxc3
24. Rxb4 Bxd2 25. Rxb8 Bxe3 26. Kg2 Bxf4 27. Nh3 Bd2 28. Rb2 Bc3 29. Rb3 Be5 30. Rb7 Kf7 31. Nf2 Ng7 32. Ng4 Bc3 33. Nh6+ Ke8 34. Rb8+ Kd7 35. Rxf8 Bd2 36. h4 Bc3 37. Rf3 Be1
38. Kh3 Ke8 39. Kg4 a5 40. Rb4 Nf5 41. Nxf5 gxf5 42. Kxf5 Bxh4 43. a4 Bf2 44. Ke6 Kf8
45. Rf3 Ke8 46. Rxf2 h5 47. g6
Black resigns

---

Position after white's move 14.g3




To be continued...

Don't get me wrong, there are days, weeks, months, that go by when I don't play the guitar. I don't pick it up, think about picking it up, or maybe even know where I last left the damn thing! Sometimes I'll play, and just bash about on it, and then put it down again feeling slightly vexed at the glaring evidence of my own talentlessness. Just occasionally though, I'll pick it up and play for hours, and God help us, croon away too, to my heart's content. Maybe with the light off. Just playing and singing, adjusting one with the other, almost imperceptibly, making miniscule adjustments to keep both in harmony, not only with each other but perhaps more significantly with my heart. At such times, playing the guitar is like a kind of joy, a balm to the troubled spirit, like nothing else I know.

But I didn't intend to write about playing the guitar. I wanted to bring it up, since if I had started with my actual subject, I fear the response would have been a resounding:

'Ohhhh noes!'

Much to my amazement, there are people who still read my livejournal. How I haven't managed to repel or alienate everyone by my repetitious maniacal recently reawakened interest in chess I will never know. But I suspect I have strained relations almost as far as they will go...

But don't get me wrong, there are days, weeks, months, when I don't play chess, or even think about chess. Times when I will play a blitz game online and feel either a shabby and hollow victory, or irritation at my pathetic ineptitude. But there are other times, rare times, when the song is so sweet, I thank my lucky stars I have this simple, extraordinarily beautiful, yet spellbindingly complex game in my life.

Tonight was such an occasion...

What do I play chess? Why does anyone play chess? Why do old men gather in town squares, smoking or drinking, but only sipping, hardly aware of the smoke that wreathes about them, lost in a game?

After all, when all is said and done, what else it is, but a game of human devising? It isn't possible to play perfect chess, yet even if it were, even if you could play chess so profound that the very atoms of the universe shake with insight, what is gained? Nothing. It is self-contained. It cures no ills, nor teaches us anything about the human condition. It's just a game.

But let's dispel a myth or two along the way. Firstly, there is nothing mechanical, symmetrical, mathematical, or coldly logical about chess. The last may surprise you. Surely the rules of the game are cast iron. Indeed so formulaic that they can be learnt by a child within the hour. There is a concrete objective, that must be fulfilled according to strictly prescribed rules. I can no more invent a new move than I can lift a pawn up in my hand and transubstantiate it into a green smoking genie. All must proceed just so. I do this. You do that. Surely this is a highly logical endeavour. Not exactly.

To me, there is little joy in doing a wordsearch. When I was little, faced with a grid of letters, and a list of words underneath that were hidden within the grid, I realised that a wordsearch could be completed quite mechanically. Look for the first letter of a word, let's say the word TATTERDEMALION. Search the grid line by line, like reading a book, until you stumble across a letter 'T'. You can then examine the letters that surround it, looking for the second letter 'A'. You might hit a dead end. You might have to keep scanning, until the next letter 'T' is found. Maybe this time you will see T-A-T-T, all in a line, but then...a brick wall. It doesn't matter. Provided the puzzle has been created in good faith, you will eventually find the word and use your preferred method to mark it off. A stroke through it, maybe a bubble surrounding it. It doesn't take any intelligence. It might not even distract you very much. Eventually, proceeding in the way, you will finish the puzzle. What have you gained? Not a great deal.

I feel the same way about Sudoku puzzles. There is no maths involved, only a little deductive reasoning. A little trial and error. The odd case of imagining a number in one of the squares, while you weave around it. Hell, you might even get stuck! You might find this particular puzzle stretches your technique, your visual abilities, your "Sudoku-sense" to the limit and beyond. Still, to my mind, there isn't a great deal of joy in it. I can accept people enjoy doing Sudoku puzzles, even wordsearches, to pass the time. To calm themselves when they are feeling fretful. It's logical. It's ordered. It's self-contained. And maybe it's exactly because it's not too taxing that people like it. But I say it again. To me, there is little joy, little exhilaration. Little beauty in it.

Paradoxically, the beauty of chess lies precisely in its opacity. It is a game that is so complex that there is nothing certain about it at all. Someone once calculated that there are more possible games of chess than atoms in the known universe. You might be inclined to doubt that, but it's quite true. [1]

It's this bewildering complexity that means you can't assess a position in chess in absolute terms. Instead you have to intuit your way through a game. You get a sense that particular things are happening. You might look at a particular combination of moves. Sometimes indeed there are forced continuations, where to deviate from a particular call and response, is self-evidently going to harm your chances of winning. More often though, you end up developing a nous, a feeling about a position, akin to the way we reduce all complexity, by using a sixth sense. Not unlike the way we decide who we love, or who trust. We have feelings, that are like colours you can't see, textures you can't touch. An indefinable sense, a emotional landscape of what you are being asked to experience. This sense is perfected over time. In fact, when you first learn the moves, you have very little sense of this. Winning or losing is much more cut and thrust. You blunder about like a blind man killing a rat with gloves on. Even if you enjoy the kill.

Quickly though, you start to sense what chess feels like. Gradually over time you develop a deep understanding of its vicissitudes, its imperatives, the interaction of the pieces on the squares. What they suggest. When there are wild complications screaming at you like the brakes of a train in a tunnel. Or when the position falls tamely under your guiding hand, like a skilled falconer teasing a wild bird to obey his accustomed will.

If I were to casually glance at a game of chess in progress, I don't see a meaningless arrangement of black and white sculpted pieces on a chequered board. Or at least, if I do, only for as long as it takes to wrap my own (admittedly quite feeble) chess mind around the position. It's not quite as immediate as looking at the features of someone's face, perhaps more like picking up the strains of a record from the next room. But clearly there is a thud, a whine, a rhythm that approximates to something I know, or understand.

And it's the same deep tremors of meaning, the struggle to make sense of an inexact problem, with a thousand moods and inflexions that make it so absorbing a game to play. If I've been having not too good a time of things. If I've been fretting on thoughts that won't leave me in peace, I can play a long, serious, game of chess and it's like taking a drug and entering a world where all extraneous things are blotted out. Sometimes I would get home from a Monday night at Atticus, tired yet with my mind racing. It might be a few hours before I returned to my normal wakeful state.

And yet I took up chess again a couple of years ago, because it struck me one day I couldn't account for why I was so bad at it! I considered myself fairly smart, pretty logical. I knew the rules. Hell, I even knew the principles. I had played at a reasonably serious competitive level throughout my teens. Yet in the great scheme of things, I was a pretty mediocre chess player.

So I started up again. And oddly I've found myself breaking the ceiling I seemed to stumble against in my youth. I've unplateaued the plateau. I've got a little bit less bad. And along the way I've started to discover my weakness at chess is because it's not a logical game at all. To be a good chess player, I slowly began to realise, actually takes creativity. Imagination. And even if I didn't have these qualities in abundance, I'm finding you start to develop them. At least a little bit.

I played a game at the club tonight, just a friendly in fact, that reminded me why I play this game. And actually I lost! Yet I feel bad for having devoted such a long edit last week, to a game of such comparative ugliness. Instead, if it's not another dreadful abuse of your good will, I'll annotate the game below.

Not that I'd expect anyone to understand...

---

[1] If it seems absurd, you needn't think so. It's simply because the number of atoms in the universe is a physical entity...such that if you were to count them, you would go 1...2...3, whereas the possible games of chess is a hypothetical, and a geometric progression to boot. There are 20 possibly first moves. Each can be met by 20 responses. Already after one move apiece, we have 400 different combinations. It's complex to work out exactly, since one particular branch of the tree might entail 20 possible continuations, another perhaps 15, another perhaps 30. But the progression goes, not 1...2...3, but perhaps, 20...400...6481...258137...etc. Very soon, the numbers get very large indeed.

Grandmaster John Nunn notes that the reason for the Sicilian Defence’s popularity "is its combative nature; in many lines Black is playing not just for equality, but for the advantage. The drawback is that White often obtains an early initiative, so Black has to take care not to fall victim to a quick attack." The earliest recorded notes on the Sicilian Defence date back to the late 16th century by the Italian chess players Giulio Polerio and Gioachino Greco.

By advancing the c-pawn two squares, Black asserts control over the d4-square and begins the fight for the centre of the board. The move resembles 1…e5, the next most common response to 1.e4, in that respect. Unlike 1...e5, however, 1...c5 breaks the symmetry of the position, which strongly influences both players' future actions. White, having pushed a kingside pawn, tends to hold the initiative on that side of the board. Moreover, 1...c5 does little for Black's development, unlike moves such as 1...e5, 1...g6, or 1...Nc6, which either develop a minor piece or prepare to do so. In many variations of the Sicilian Black makes a number of further pawn moves in the opening (for example, ...d6, ...e6, ...a6, and ...b5). Consequently, White often obtains a substantial lead in development and dangerous attacking chances.

Meanwhile, Black's advance of a queenside pawn has given him a spatial advantage there and provides a basis for future operations on that flank. Often, Black's pawn on c5 is traded for White's pawn on d4 in the early stages of the game, granting Black a central pawn majority. The pawn trade also opens the c-file for Black, who can place a rook or queen on that file to aid his queenside counterplay.

Grandmaster Jonathan Rowson recently considered why the Sicilian is the most successful response to 1.e4, even though 1...c5 develops no pieces, and the pawn on c5 only controls d4 and b4. Rowson writes, "To my mind there is quite a straightforward explanation. In order to profit from the initiative granted by the first move, White has to make use of his opportunity to do something before Black has an equal number of opportunities of his own. However, to do this, he has to make 'contact' with the black position. The first point of contact usually comes in the form of a pawn exchange, which leads to the opening of the position. ... So the thought behind 1...c5 is this: 'OK, I'll let you open the position, and develop your pieces aggressively, but at a price – you have to give me one of your centre pawns.'"

Hey Sanjoy

I read your post on the Sicilian. I did wince at Qa5 before I read further. I don't mean to presume, but I really disagree with your 'tempo' comments. I would understand the sicilian very differently - it's not about creating chaos. It's a deep positional idea - it challenges for the centre without commiting to the central pawn structure.

Chess is a game of information. Black has an advantage - white always commits more information and black gets to respond accordingly. the sicilian in its purest forms (scheveningen) waits to see what white is planning before responding - placing of pawns and pieces. it's all about flexibility. I really think it's White who is obliged to create chaos to challenge this flexibility. Black wins the endgame, white has to get an advantage early. Although it's often sharp, the Najdorf 'a6' is a waiting move - you can play e6 or e5 depending on how white commits.

Qa5 is not in the spirit of the opening. Unless it wins material, these kind of moves are un-sicilian. I know there are variations with early queen moves - but these are 'cheapos'.

Sorry, I got obsessed with this aspect and even played 1 d3 2 d4 as white for a while in order to lose the tempo and become Black under favourable conditions.

A.

The following game is a morbid 13 moves from start to finish, so I will give the individual moves a little more attention than I might otherwise.

Dr Emanuel Lasker, one of the early classical world champions, is once said to have remarked wryly "I never beat a well man!", meaning that excuses are quick to flow from the lips of the defeated.

I promised myself after this game that I would not succumb to this temptation, so instead of talking about what was going on with me that night, I'll just give you the game, and you can judge for yourself.

It was the first game of the season for us, and my debut in Division 1. Last season I may have finished with a perfect record, but that was some three divisions lower. Before the game on Monday, I was already anticipating playing an opponent maybe 20 or so points strong than me this season, and knew I would have to play my best chess.

At the same time, I've beaten players at this level before. I reminded myself before I sat at the board, that I shouldn't feel cowed or conservative. If the initiative was there to be taken, I needed to treat the game as against any other opponent, and play the right moves, as I saw them.

Martin Cooksey (165) - Sanjoy Banerjee (132)

1. e4 c5
2. Nf3 d6
3. Bb5+



Advancing the king's pawn two squares forward is the most common way for white to open the game. From beginner to grandmaster, the appeal is the same. The pawn advances into the centre of the board where it occupies one of the four key central squares, and exerts control over another, while opening the diagonals for queen and bishop to develop.

Black's reply initiates the Sicilian Defence, marginally the most popular reply, and a response so automatic to me, I might literally play this move in my sleep. The game is now alive. The battle defined.

Let's consider some ideas though. Remember when you first learnt to play chess? I must have been about five or six years old. My mum, dad and sister would play each other, as we might play noughts and crosses. I liked playing black. I liked the colour of the pieces. It didn't matter then that white moves first. After all, a game might last several dozen moves each. What does it matter who moves first?

The same might be said of development. The insouciant beginner doesn't need to develop quickly. Most beginner games see activity confined to a few pieces that whizz about, threatening here and there, while others are neglected and spend the entire game as onlookers, until they are captured, or else witness checkmate with the melancholy of a man who watches his lover playing unfaithful in a dream.

By the time you get to any serious level, it matters. White gains around 55% of points at the elite level. A slim margin perhaps, but black is often on the back foot for long periods of the game, and must struggle to equalize. The proper term for a move in chess, in a particular context is a 'tempo'.

The word comes from the latin root 'tempus' or time. In music, tempo is the pace a piece is played at. In chess, the reference to time is entirely appropriate. If you move the same piece back and forth, you have lost two tempi. You are in the same position you were in two moves ago, while your opponent has used his two tempi take advantage of the fact. Waste a tempo at your peril. Neglect your development at your peril. This game illustrates that fact.

The thinking behind the Sicilian Defence is that black is causing an immediate imbalance in the position. If you must be a tempo behind, you might as well seek to create a storm. Some of the sharpest lines see black attack down one wing, while white attacks down the other. Basically stated, it's not a conservative way to play the game. It sets out to give black every chance of turning the tables.

If you play the Sicilian long enough, you will learn that there are certain 'main lines', with variations a dozen or more moves deep. This is the heart of Sicilian territory. And I would timidly suggest these are still the lines where white's best advantage lies.

Yet, to the non-Sicilian player, why wander into the tiger's cage? There are perhaps a dozen or so common 'anti-Sicilian' systems. White players often have in their repertoire their pet anti-Sicilian variation, while an inveterate Sicilian player must learn how to cope with them all.

White's third move Bb5+ is one such anti-Sicilian system. To give it its proper name, it is B51-2 the Canal-Sokolsky (Rossolimo) Attack. And to be fair, for a guy who has played thousands of games with the black side of the Sicilian, I was underprepared.

Black's king is in check, and the two obvious way to avert this are to play Nc6 or Bd7. Play this against someone who doesn't know it, and the chances are they will play Bd7, for the simple reason that it appears that if white accepts the exchange with Bxd7, black is able to recapture with his knight, and in effect develop a piece (and gain a tempo) into the bargain.

Allied to this, if black plays Nc6, he has volunteered himself into a pin (the knight cannot now move since it is shielding the king from attack).

I had looked at this opening briefly after a blitz game online, maybe a year or two ago, and had discovered that in actual fact Nc6 is considered perfectly playable, or even preferable. Although I knew I may be stepping into complications I would have to work out at the board, I decided to play 'the best move' and let the devil take the hindmost!

3. ... Nc6
4. 0-0 g6



Before I sat down to play, my friend Phil gave me a last word of advice about playing in the top division. Quite simply he said 'avoid getting into time trouble'. Already though, I could see I was going to have to think my way through this opening. Within the space of a couple of moves I found I had surrendered fifteen minutes on the clock to my opponent. I sometimes find myself spending longer over the opening than might be ideal, especially when it presents problems, that you need to work out how you intend to overcome. These are not overwhelming difficulties, just little issues that you suddenly find yourself faced with. They are more along the lines of the following:

- On which squares do I intend to develop my pieces, especially bishops and knights.
- Who control what? In particular, who controls the centre?
- What is the threat? What is my opponent intending to do? What do I have to do to overcome this. What are my threats? How does my opponent intend to overcome them?

My last move is the result of my lack of confidence, already at move 4, with how the game is transpiring. I would have preferred it if my opponent had simply exchanged. To give up his bishop for the knight entails surrendering control of the white squares for the rest of the game. A similar theme exists in the Nimzo-Indian, although with colours reversed, and pawns in different positions, but generally, a player will avoid the capture in this kind of situation, unless there is something definite to be gained.

White was also unlikely to break the pin he has on my knight, and this was the chief source of my anxiety. I was concerned I could not play Nf6 immediately, for fear of e5 and although Bd7 seems a natural move (to break the pin), I feared it seemed a little passive, and wanted to play Bg4. I was also conscious that d2-d4 was an option for white, and wanted to exert control over the e4 and d5 squares. I decided g6 was the best move from this perspective and to complete my development as quickly as possible.

5. c3 Qa5?



If I had been standing watching the game over my own shoulder, at this point I would have winced.

To a player of a certain level, what is wrong with this move is sadly all too evident. Black isn't even close to completing his development, yet suddenly decides to advance his queen to a square where she can be harried and will eventually have to depart from, gaining nothing but the loss of tempi.

I made the move however, because white's bishop was starting to become a real irritant. White's last move prepares the advance of the queen's pawn, however I realised it may also disadvantage my desire to kick away the bishop. If I play a6, white can play Qa4, in which case black cannot capture the bishop since his rook is exposed. However, there was no threat of this. Qa4 would simply be met by Bd7, and would be similarly wasteful for white. Yet Qa5 I played, and soon began to regret it.

6. Bxc6+ bxc6

At least the vexatious bishop is gone. I am not sure this is best for white, it is possible 6.Bc4 is preferable, yet it's perfectly adequate as the following bears out.

7. d3 Bd7
8. Nd2



White threatens to place the knight on c4, chasing away the black queen and exerting pressure on d6 and e5. I realise time is almost up for the black's queen, yet I am almost reluctant to retreat it. I consider playing 8...Bxc3 9.bxc3 Qxc3 10.Rb1 Qxd3. After the game, we looked briefly at this, and it was observed that 10.Nb3 obviates the need for white to lose the additional pawn, yet even without this reserve, the suggested variation is perfectly good for white, since black has surrendered his only other developed piece and looks pretty shot. Common sense prevails as I try belatedly to develop my way out of trouble.

8. ... Nf6
9. Nc4 Qc7
10. Bf4



Black's queen must choose to retreat to either c7 or d8. On balance I preferred c7 since after 9...Qd8 10.e5 dxe5 11.Nxe5, black's pawn on c6 is exposed. However, white ratchets up the pressure by bringing his bishop to f4 to create another pin.

Here the position cries out for black to play e5. It's the obvious, natural, and in fact only move. Black must prevent e4-e5 at all costs, and although he appears to have created a backward pawn on d6 and a hole on d5, so long as white does not have his other bishop, and while black's pawn on c6 has the d5 square covered, both in preventing a piece landing on it and as a resource to undouble itself, black is in reasonable health.

10. ... Ba6??

Instead I opt for the catastrophic!



This is a plain miscalculation. After 11.e5, black cannot now avoid losing material. There are a few branches of the analysis tree to calculate, yet it is not too difficult to see black's difficulty. I gave it I think around five or ten minutes thought, and saw a mirage, which suggested Ba6 was playable. It isn't.

11. e5 Nh5
12. exd6



I was aware I was still behind on the clock, yet I still thought I could see a way of prolonging the struggle.

12. ... Qb8??

The only move of the night I played in haste.

13. d7+

Winning the queen. A knockout blow. Yet until my opponent played it, I failed to see it, and rather revealed the fact with an audible 'tsk' the moment it was delivered. To miss a simple one move tactic is disappointing. It is immediately apparent that Qb8 leaves the queen on the same diagonal as the bishop, however I was only looking at 13.dxe7, where the queen is able to capture the bishop. To miss d7+ was poor, but to be fair the alternatives aren't exactly promising. As soon as black allowed 11.e5, it was game over.

I hung around to analyse the game, for what it was, with my opponent and a couple of friends Phil and Luke. I stayed behind to smoke a cigarette with Luke and chat for a while. With three matches on, I knew people would be dropping by The Everyman for a pint, yet it was only 9 o'clock, and in any case I had not had much sleep from the weekend. There. You have it. My excuse! So I went home.

Still, I was pretty downcast to lose a game like this. There were not many ways I could have found to exit stage left with only a dozen moves on my scoresheet, yet I had managed to find one of them.

Yet in spite of this drubbing, I'm still looking forward to every game this season, much more than last. And I know for a cast iron certainty, I will not play this poorly again. It's an ugly game, and almost excruciatingly embarrassing, but it makes me determined to make sure I give a better account of myself when we play again a week on Monday.

Sadly I later found out the whole team suffered pretty badly. We took a solitary draw on board 2, although we had a number of good positions where we might have fared better. We knew Aigburth were a strong side, so at least that's one we can strike off the card. We'll do better next time. On a personal note at least, I'm sure of it.

Atticus 2 ½-7½ Aigburth 1

Andrzej Stancak (176) 0-1 Roger Williamson (194)
Tom Bimpson (176) ½-½ Andreas Vogt (205)
Pasquale Rabadan (158) 0-1 Graham Lilley (177)
David Stuttard (158) 0-1 James Hawkins (169)
Neil Suttie (152) 0-1 Joe Siddall (178)
Farhad Amir-Afshari (134) 0-1 Robert Frith (163)
Sanjoy Banerjee (132) 0-1 Martin Cooksey (165)
Steve Burge (123) 0-1 Brendan Kane (155)

A couple of Christmases ago I received Bill Bryson, A Brief History of Nearly Everything. In it, near the start, he is talking about the universe, and trying to emphasise the point that although we look up into the night sky and see a whole bunch of stuff, it's not like one of those sci-fi sequences where a spaceship is hurtling through space while stars, asteroids and planets are whizzing past it to the left and right. In actual fact, most of space is very spacious, and the distance between stars, compared to their own size, is vast.

I was thinking about this today at work and realised I had no accurate idea how close we were to our nearest neighbouring star. This turns out to be proxima centauri, which is 4.2 light years away.

Considering that light takes around 8.5 minutes to reach us from the sun, it's evident that 4.2 light years is a good deal further away. But if you prefer, this works out at around 24,851,610,000,000 or 24 trillion miles away.

On 20th December 1799, five days before Christmas and her 28th birthday, Dorothy Wordsworth and her brother William, one year her elder, arrived at Dove Cottage overlooking Lake Grasmere in the Lake District.

They had travelled across from Cockermouth in the north east, through ice and snow wearing clogs quite ill-suited to a journey so treacherous that at points they had been obliged to crawl on their hands and knees, and indeed both spent their first days at Dove Cottage nursing the colds they had caught.

William had been close to his sister from an early age, but orphaned in their childhood they had spent many years apart. Although they had lived together in Somerset in 1797 and in Germany in 1798, William wanted to find a permanent home for them together. Dove Cottage was empty and available for rent, and they took up residence, paying £5 a year to John Benson of Grasmere.

For the next eight and a half years, Dove Cottage was home to Dorothy, William, his wife Mary, their children and dog Pepper. The cottage was decidedly small, yet it was here that they entertained their many friends including fellow 'lake poet' Samuel Taylor Coleridge and nourished their ideal of simple living and high thinking. It was at Dove Cottage that the prolific Wordsworth wrote much of his best regarded work, during a golden decade of inspiration.

In addition Mary kept her Grasmere Journal, which though intended for only her brother to read, is delightfully rich and includes much that inspired him, perhaps most famously her encounter with the 'host of golden daffodils' in Ullswater which the poet was to immortalise in verse.

THE RECLUSE

PART FIRST

BOOK FIRST--HOME AT GRASMERE

ONCE to the verge of yon steep barrier came
A roving school-boy; what the adventurer's age
Hath now escaped his memory--but the hour,
One of a golden summer holiday,
He well remembers, though the year be gone--
Alone and devious from afar he came;
And, with a sudden influx overpowered
At sight of this seclusion, he forgot
His haste, for hasty had his footsteps been
As boyish his pursuits; and sighing said,
"What happy fortune were it here to live!
And, if a thought of dying, if a thought
Of mortal separation, could intrude
With paradise before him, here to die!"
No Prophet was he, had not even a hope,
Scarcely a wish, but one bright pleasing thought,
A fancy in the heart of what might be
The lot of others, never could be his.
The station whence he looked was soft and green,
Not giddy yet aerial, with a depth
Of vale below, a height of hills above.
For rest of body perfect was the spot,
All that luxurious nature could desire;
But stirring to the spirit; who could gaze
And not feel motions there? He thought of clouds
That sail on winds: of breezes that delight
To play on water, or in endless chase
Pursue each other through the yielding plain
Of grass or corn, over and through and through,
In billow after billow, evermore
Disporting--nor unmindful was the boy
Of sunbeams, shadows, butterflies and birds;
Of fluttering sylphs and softly-gliding Fays,
Genii, and winged angels that are Lords
Without restraint of all which they behold.
The illusion strengthening as he gazed, he felt
That such unfettered liberty was his,
Such power and joy; but only for this end,
To flit from field to rock, from rock to field,
From shore to island, and from isle to shore,
From open ground to covert, from a bed
Of meadow-flowers into a tuft of wood;
From high to low, from low to high, yet still
Within the bound of this huge concave; here
Must be his home, this valley be his world.
Since that day forth the Place to him--'to me'
(For I who live to register the truth
Was that same young and happy Being) became
As beautiful to thought, as it had been
When present, to the bodily sense; a haunt
Of pure affections, shedding upon joy
A brighter joy; and through such damp and gloom
Of the gay mind, as ofttimes splenetic youth
Mistakes for sorrow, darting beams of light
That no self-cherished sadness could withstand;
And now 'tis mine, perchance for life, dear Vale,
Beloved Grasmere (let the wandering streams
Take up, the cloud-capt hills repeat, the Name)
One of thy lowly Dwellings is my Home.
And was the cost so great? and could it seem
An act of courage, and the thing itself
A conquest? who must bear the blame? Sage man
Thy prudence, thy experience, thy desires,
Thy apprehensions--blush thou for them all.
Yes the realities of life so cold,
So cowardly, so ready to betray,
So stinted in the measure of their grace
As we pronounce them, doing them much wrong,
Have been to me more bountiful than hope,
Less timid than desire--but that is past.
On Nature's invitation do I come,
By Reason sanctioned. Can the choice mislead,
That made the calmest fairest spot of earth
With all its unappropriated good
My own; and not mine only, for with me
Entrenched, say rather peacefully embowered,
Under yon orchard, in yon humble cot,
A younger Orphan of a home extinct,
The only Daughter of my Parents dwells.
Ay, think on that, my heart, and cease to stir,
Pause upon that and let the breathing frame
No longer breathe, but all be satisfied.
--Oh, if such silence be not thanks to God
For what hath been bestowed, then where, where then
Shall gratitude find rest? Mine eyes did ne'er
Fix on a lovely object, nor my mind
Take pleasure in the midst of happy thoughts,
But either She whom now I have, who now
Divides with me this loved abode, was there,
Or not far off. Where'er my footsteps turned,
Her voice was like a hidden Bird that sang,
The thought of her was like a flash of light,
Or an unseen companionship, a breath
Of fragrance independent of the Wind.
In all my goings, in the new and old
Of all my meditations, and in this
Favourite of all, in this the most of all.
--What being, therefore, since the birth of Man
Had ever more abundant cause to speak
Thanks, and if favours of the Heavenly Muse
Make him more thankful, then to call on Verse
To aid him and in song resound his joy?
The boon is absolute; surpassing grace
To me hath been vouchsafed; among the bowers
Of blissful Eden this was neither given
Nor could be given, possession of the good
Which had been sighed for, ancient thought fulfilled,
And dear Imaginations realised,
Up to their highest measure, yea and more.
Embrace me then, ye Hills, and close me in;
Now in the clear and open day I feel
Your guardianship; I take it to my heart;
'Tis like the solemn shelter of the night.
But I would call thee beautiful, for mild,
And soft, and gay, and beautiful thou art
Dear Valley, having in thy face a smile
Though peaceful, full of gladness. Thou art pleased,
Pleased with thy crags and woody steeps, thy Lake,
Its one green island and its winding shores;
The multitude of little rocky hills,
Thy Church and cottages of mountain stone
Clustered like stars some few, but single most,
And lurking dimly in their shy retreats,
Or glancing at each other cheerful looks
Like separated stars with clouds between.
What want we? have we not perpetual streams,
Warm woods, and sunny hills, and fresh green fields,
And mountains not less green, and flocks and herds,
And thickets full of songsters, and the voice
Of lordly birds, an unexpected sound
Heard now and then from morn to latest eve,
Admonishing the man who walks below
Of solitude and silence in the sky?
These have we, and a thousand nooks of earth
Have also these, but nowhere else is found,
Nowhere (or is it fancy?) can be found
The one sensation that is here; 'tis here,
Here as it found its way into my heart
In childhood, here as it abides by day,
By night, here only; or in chosen minds
That take it with them hence, where'er they go.
--'Tis, but I cannot name it, 'tis the sense
Of majesty, and beauty, and repose,
A blended holiness of earth and sky,
Something that makes this individual spot,
This small abiding-place of many men,
A termination, and a last retreat,
A centre, come from wheresoe'er you will,
A whole without dependence or defect,
Made for itself, and happy in itself,
Perfect contentment, Unity entire.
Bleak season was it, turbulent and bleak,
When hitherward we journeyed side by side
Through burst of sunshine and through flying showers;
Paced the long vales--how long they were--and yet
How fast that length of way was left behind,
Wensley's rich Vale, and Sedbergh's naked heights.
The frosty wind, as if to make amends
For its keen breath, was aiding to our steps,
And drove us onward like two ships at sea,
Or like two birds, companions in mid-air,
Parted and reunited by the blast.
Stern was the face of nature; we rejoiced
In that stern countenance, for our souls thence drew
A feeling of their strength. The naked trees,
The icy brooks, as on we passed, appeared
To question us. "Whence come ye, to what end?"
They seemed to say, "What would ye," said the shower,
"Wild Wanderers, whither through my dark domain?"
The sunbeam said, "Be happy." When this vale
We entered, bright and solemn was the sky
That faced us with a passionate welcoming,
And led us to our threshold. Daylight failed
Insensibly, and round us gently fell
Composing darkness, with a quiet load
Of full contentment, in a little shed
Disturbed, uneasy in itself as seemed,
And wondering at its new inhabitants.
It loves us now, this Vale so beautiful
Begins to love us! by a sullen storm,
Two months unwearied of severest storm,
It put the temper of our minds to proof,
And found us faithful through the gloom, and heard
The poet mutter his prelusive songs
With cheerful heart, an unknown voice of joy
Among the silence of the woods and hills;
Silent to any gladsomeness of sound
With all their shepherds.
But the gates of Spring
Are opened; churlish winter hath given leave
That she should entertain for this one day,
Perhaps for many genial days to come,
His guests, and make them jocund.--They are pleased,
But most of all the birds that haunt the flood
With the mild summons; inmates though they be
Of Winter's household, they keep festival
This day, who drooped, or seemed to droop, so long;
They show their pleasure, and shall I do less?
Happier of happy though I be, like them
I cannot take possession of the sky,
Mount with a thoughtless impulse, and wheel there
One of a mighty multitude, whose way
Is a perpetual harmony and dance
Magnificent. Behold how with a grace
Of ceaseless motion, that might scarcely seem
Inferior to angelical, they prolong
Their curious pastime, shaping in mid-air,
And sometimes with ambitious wing that soars
High as the level of the mountain tops,
A circuit ampler than the lake beneath,
Their own domain;--but ever, while intent
On tracing and retracing that large round,
Their jubilant activity evolves
Hundreds of curves and circlets, to and fro,
Upwards and downwards; progress intricate
Yet unperplexed, as if one spirit swayed
Their indefatigable flight. 'Tis done,
Ten times and more I fancied it had ceased,
But lo! the vanished company again
Ascending, they approach. I hear their wings
Faint, faint at first; and then an eager sound
Passed in a moment--and as faint again!
They tempt the sun to sport among their plumes;
Tempt the smooth water, or the gleaming ice,
To show them a fair image,--'tis themselves,
Their own fair forms upon the glimmering plain
Painted more soft and fair as they descend,
Almost to touch,--then up again aloft,
Up with a sally and a flash of speed,
As if they scorned both resting-place and rest!
--This day is a thanksgiving, 'tis a day
Of glad emotion and deep quietness;
Not upon me alone hath been bestowed,
Me rich in many onward-looking thoughts,
The penetrating bliss; oh surely these
Have felt it, not the happy choirs of spring,
Her own peculiar family of love
That sport among green leaves, a blither train!
But two are missing, two, a lonely pair
Of milk-white Swans; wherefore are they not seen
Partaking this day's pleasure? From afar
They came, to sojourn here in solitude,
Choosing this Valley, they who had the choice
Of the whole world. We saw them day by day,
Through those two months of unrelenting storm,
Conspicuous at the centre of the Lake
Their safe retreat, we knew them well, I guess
That the whole valley knew them; but to us
They were more dear than may be well believed,
Not only for their beauty, and their still
And placid way of life, and constant love
Inseparable, not for these alone,
But that 'their' state so much resembled ours,
They having also chosen this abode;
They strangers, and we strangers, they a pair,
And we a solitary pair like them.
They should not have departed; many days
Did I look forth in vain, nor on the wing
Could see them, nor in that small open space
Of blue unfrozen water, where they lodged
And lived so long in quiet, side by side.
Shall we behold them consecrated friends,
Faithful companions, yet another year
Surviving, they for us, and we for them,
And neither pair be broken? nay perchance
It is too late already for such hope;
The Dalesmen may have aimed the deadly tube,
And parted them; or haply both are gone
One death, and that were mercy given to both.
Recall, my song, the ungenerous thought; forgive,
Thrice favoured Region, the conjecture harsh
Of such inhospitable penalty
Inflicted upon confidence so pure.
Ah! if I wished to follow where the sight
Of all that is before my eyes, the voice
Which speaks from a presiding spirit here,
Would lead me, I should whisper to myself:
They who are dwellers in this holy place
Must needs themselves be hallowed, they require
No benediction from the stranger's lips,
For they are blessed already; none would give
The greeting "peace be with you" unto them,
For peace they have; it cannot but be theirs,
And mercy, and forbearance--nay--not these--
'Their' healing offices a pure good-will
Precludes, and charity beyond the bounds
Of charity--an overflowing love;
Not for the creature only, but for all
That is around them; love for everything
Which in their happy Region they behold!
Thus do we soothe ourselves, and when the thought
Is passed, we blame it not for having come.
--What if I floated down a pleasant stream,
And now am landed, and the motion gone,
Shall I reprove myself? Ah no, the stream
Is flowing, and will never cease to flow,
And I shall float upon that stream again.
By such forgetfulness the soul becomes,
Words cannot say how beautiful: then hail,
Hail to the visible Presence, hail to thee,
Delightful Valley, habitation fair!
And to whatever else of outward form
Can give an inward help, can purify,
And elevate, and harmonise, and soothe,
And steal away, and for a while deceive
And lap in pleasing rest, and bear us on
Without desire in full complacency,
Contemplating perfection absolute,
And entertained as in a placid sleep.
But not betrayed by tenderness of mind
That feared, or wholly overlooked the truth,
Did we come hither, with romantic hope
To find in midst of so much loveliness
Love, perfect love: of so much majesty
A like majestic-frame of mind in those
Who here abide, the persons like the place.
Not from such hope, or aught of such belief,
Hath issued any portion of the joy
Which I have felt this day. An awful voice
'Tis true hath in my walks been often heard,
Sent from the mountains or the sheltered fields,
Shout after shout--reiterated whoop,
In manner of a bird that takes delight
In answering to itself: or like a hound
Single at chase among the lonely woods,
His yell repeating; yet it was in truth
A human voice--a spirit of coming night;
How solemn when the sky is dark, and earth
Not dark, nor yet enlightened, but by snow
Made visible, amid a noise of winds
And bleatings manifold of mountain sheep,
Which in that iteration recognise
Their summons, and are gathering round for food,
Devoured with keenness, ere to grove or bank
Or rocky bield with patience they retire.
That very voice, which, in some timid mood
Of superstitious fancy, might have seemed
Awful as ever stray demoniac uttered,
His steps to govern in the wilderness;
Or as the Norman Curfew's regular beat
To hearths when first they darkened at the knell:
That shepherd's voice, it may have reached mine ear
Debased and under profanation, made
The ready organ of articulate sounds
From ribaldry, impiety, or wrath,
Issuing when shame hath ceased to check the brawls
Of some abused Festivity--so be it.
I came not dreaming of unruffled life,
Untainted manners; born among the hills,
Bred also there, I wanted not a scale
To regulate my hopes; pleased with the good
I shrink not from the evil with disgust,
Or with immoderate pain. I look for Man,
The common creature of the brotherhood,
Differing but little from the Man elsewhere,
For selfishness and envy and revenge,
Ill neighbourhood--pity that this should be--
Flattery and double-dealing, strife and wrong.
Yet is it something gained, it is in truth
A mighty gain, that Labour here preserves
His rosy face, a servant only here
Of the fireside or of the open field,
A Freeman therefore sound and unimpaired:
That extreme penury is here unknown,
And cold and hunger's abject wretchedness
Mortal to body and the heaven-born mind:
That they who want are not too great a weight
For those who can relieve; here may the heart
Breathe in the air of fellow-suffering
Dreadless, as in a kind of fresher breeze
Of her own native element, the hand
Be ready and unwearied without plea,
From tasks too frequent or beyond its power,
For languor or indifference or despair.
And as these lofty barriers break the force
Of winds,--this deep Vale, as it doth in part
Conceal us from the storm, so here abides
A power and a protection for the mind,
Dispensed indeed to other solitudes
Favoured by noble privilege like this,
Where kindred independence of estate
Is prevalent, where he who tills the field,
He, happy man! is master of the field,
And treads the mountains which his Fathers trod.
Not less than halfway up yon mountain's side,
Behold a dusky spot, a grove of Firs
That seems still smaller than it is; this grove
Is haunted--by what ghost? a gentle spirit
Of memory faithful to the call of love;
For, as reports the Dame, whose fire sends up
Yon curling smoke from the grey cot below,
The trees (her first-born child being then a babe)
Were planted by her husband and herself,
That ranging o'er the high and houseless ground
Their sheep might neither want from perilous storm
Of winter, nor from summer's sultry heat,
A friendly covert; "and they knew it well,"
Said she, "for thither as the trees grew up
We to the patient creatures carried food
In times of heavy snow." She then began
In fond obedience to her private thoughts
To speak of her dead husband; is there not
An art, a music, and a strain of words
That shall be life, the acknowledged voice of life,
Shall speak of what is done among the fields,
Done truly there, or felt, of solid good
And real evil, yet be sweet withal,
More grateful, more harmonious than the breath,
The idle breath of softest pipe attuned
To pastoral fancies? Is there such a stream
Pure and unsullied flowing from the heart
With motions of true dignity and grace?
Or must we seek that stream where Man is not?
Methinks I could repeat in tuneful verse,
Delicious as the gentlest breeze that sounds
Through that aerial fir-grove--could preserve
Some portion of its human history
As gathered from the Matron's lips, and tell
Of tears that have been shed at sight of it,
And moving dialogues between this Pair
Who in their prime of wedlock, with joint hands
Did plant the grove, now flourishing, while they
No longer flourish, he entirely gone,
She withering in her loneliness. Be this
A task above my skill--the silent mind
Has her own treasures, and I think of these,
Love what I see, and honour humankind.
No, we are not alone, we do not stand,
My sister here misplaced and desolate,
Loving what no one cares for but ourselves,
We shall not scatter through the plains and rocks
Of this fair Vale, and o'er its spacious heights,
Unprofitable kindliness, bestowed
On objects unaccustomed to the gifts
Of feeling, which were cheerless and forlorn
But few weeks past, and would be so again
Were we not here; we do not tend a lamp
Whose lustre we alone participate,
Which shines dependent upon us alone,
Mortal though bright, a dying, dying flame.
Look where we will, some human hand has been
Before us with its offering; not a tree
Sprinkles these little pastures, but the same
Hath furnished matter for a thought; perchance
For some one serves as a familiar friend.
Joy spreads, and sorrow spreads; and this whole Vale,
Home of untutored shepherds as it is,
Swarms with sensation, as with gleams of sunshine,
Shadows or breezes, scents or sounds. Nor deem
These feelings, though subservient more than ours
To every day's demand for daily bread,
And borrowing more their spirit and their shape
From self-respecting interests; deem them not
Unworthy therefore, and unhallowed--no,
They lift the animal being, do themselves
By nature's kind and ever-present aid
Refine the selfishness from which they spring,
Redeem by love the individual sense
Of anxiousness, with which they are combined.
And thus it is that fitly they become
Associates in the joy of purest minds:
They blend therewith congenially: meanwhile
Calmly they breathe their own undying life
Through this their mountain sanctuary; long
Oh long may it remain inviolate,
Diffusing health and sober cheerfulness,
And giving to the moments as they pass
Their little boons of animating thought
That sweeten labour, make it seen and felt
To be no arbitrary weight imposed,
But a glad function natural to man.
Fair proof of this, newcomer though I be,
Already have I gained; the inward frame,
Though slowly opening, opens every day
With process not unlike to that which cheers
A pensive stranger journeying at his leisure
Through some Helvetian Dell; when low-hung mists
Break up and are beginning to recede;
How pleased he is where thin and thinner grows
The veil, or where it parts at once, to spy
The dark pines thrusting forth their spiky heads;
To watch the spreading lawns with cattle grazed;
Then to be greeted by the scattered huts
As they shine out; and 'see' the streams whose murmur
Had soothed his ear while 'they' were hidden; how pleased
To have about him which way e'er he goes
Something on every side concealed from view,
In every quarter something visible
Half seen or wholly, lost and found again,
Alternate progress and impediment,
And yet a growing prospect in the main.
Such pleasure now is mine, albeit forced,
Herein less happy than the Traveller,
To cast from time to time a painful look
Upon unwelcome things which unawares
Reveal themselves, not therefore is my heart
Depressed, nor does it fear what is to come;
But confident, enriched at every glance,
The more I see the more delight my mind
Receives, or by reflection can create:
Truth justifies herself, and as she dwells
With Hope, who would not follow where she leads?
Nor let me pass unheeded other loves
Where no fear is, and humbler sympathies.
Already hath sprung up within my heart
A liking for the small grey horse that bears
The paralytic man, and for the brute
In Scripture sanctified--the patient brute
On which the cripple, in the quarry maimed,
Rides to and fro: I know them and their ways.
The famous sheep-dog, first in all the vale,
Though yet to me a stranger, will not be
A stranger long; nor will the blind man's guide,
Meek and neglected thing, of no renown!
Soon will peep forth the primrose, ere it fades
Friends shall I have at dawn, blackbird and thrush
To rouse me, and a hundred warblers more!
And if those Eagles to their ancient hold
Return, Helvellyn's Eagles! with the Pair
From my own door I shall be free to claim
Acquaintance, as they sweep from cloud to cloud.
The owl that gives the name to Owlet-Crag
Have I heard whooping, and he soon will be
A chosen one of my regards. See there
The heifer in yon little croft belongs
To one who holds it dear; with duteous care
She reared it, and in speaking of her charge
I heard her scatter some endearing words
Domestic, and in spirit motherly,
She being herself a mother; happy Beast,
If the caresses of a human voice
Can make it so, and care of human hands.
And ye as happy under Nature's care,
Strangers to me and all men, or at least
Strangers to all particular amity,
All intercourse of knowledge or of love
That parts the individual from his kind.
Whether in large communities ye keep
From year to year, not shunning man's abode,
A settled residence, or be from far
Wild creatures, and of many homes, that come
The gift of winds, and whom the winds again
Take from us at your pleasure; yet shall ye
Not want for this your own subordinate place
In my affections. Witness the delight
With which erewhile I saw that multitude
Wheel through the sky, and see them now at rest,
Yet not at rest upon the glassy lake:
They 'cannot' rest--they gambol like young whelps;
Active as lambs, and overcome with joy
They try all frolic motions; flutter, plunge,
And beat the passive water with their wings.
Too distant are they for plain view, but lo!
Those little fountains, sparkling in the sun,
Betray their occupation, rising up
First one and then another silver spout,
As one or other takes the fit of glee,
Fountains and spouts, yet somewhat in the guise
Of plaything fireworks, that on festal nights
Sparkle about the feet of wanton boys.
--How vast the compass of this theatre,
Yet nothing to be seen but lovely pomp
And silent majesty; the birch-tree woods
Are hung with thousand thousand diamond drops
Of melted hoar-frost, every tiny knot
In the bare twigs, each little budding-place
Cased with its several beads; what myriads these
Upon one tree, while all the distant grove,
That rises to the summit of the steep,
Shows like a mountain built of silver light:
See yonder the same pageant, and again
Behold the universal imagery
Inverted, all its sun-bright features touched
As with the varnish and the gloss of dreams.
Dreamlike the blending also of the whole
Harmonious landscape: all along the shore
The boundary lost--the line invisible
That parts the image from reality;
And the clear hills, as high as they ascend
Heavenward, so deep piercing the lake below.
Admonished of the days of love to come
The raven croaks, and fills the upper air
With a strange sound of genial harmony;
And in and all about that playful band,
Incapable although they be of rest,
And in their fashion very rioters,
There is a stillness, and they seem to make
Calm revelry in that their calm abode.
Them leaving to their joyous hours I pass,
Pass with a thought the life of the whole year
That is to come: the throng of woodland flowers
And lilies that will dance upon the waves.
Say boldly then that solitude is not
Where these things are: he truly is alone,
He of the multitude whose eyes are doomed
To hold a vacant commerce day by day
With Objects wanting life--repelling love;
He by the vast metropolis immured,
Where pity shrinks from unremitting calls,
Where numbers overwhelm humanity,
And neighbourhood serves rather to divide
Than to unite--what sighs more deep than his,
Whose nobler will hath long been sacrificed;
Who must inhabit under a black sky
A city, where, if indifference to disgust
Yield not to scorn or sorrow, living men
Are ofttimes to their fellow-men no more
Than to the forest Hermit are the leaves
That hang aloft in myriads; nay, far less,
For they protect his walk from sun and shower,
Swell his devotion with their voice in storms,
And whisper while the stars twinkle among them
His lullaby. From crowded streets remote,
Far from the living and dead Wilderness
Of the thronged world, Society is here
A true community--a genuine frame
Of many into one incorporate.
'That' must be looked for here: paternal sway,
One household, under God, for high and low,
One family and one mansion; to themselves
Appropriate, and divided from the world,
As if it were a cave, a multitude
Human and brute, possessors undisturbed
Of this Recess--their legislative Hall,
Their Temple, and their glorious Dwelling-place.
Dismissing therefore all Arcadian dreams,
All golden fancies of the golden age,
The bright array of shadowy thoughts from times
That were before all time, or are to be
Ere time expire, the pageantry that stirs
Or will be stirring, when our eyes are fixed
On lovely objects, and we wish to part
With all remembrance of a jarring world,
--Take we at once this one sufficient hope,
What need of more? that we shall neither droop
Nor pine for want of pleasure in the life
Scattered about us, nor through want of aught
That keeps in health the insatiable mind.
--That we shall have for knowledge and for love
Abundance, and that feeling as we do
How goodly, how exceeding fair, how pure
From all reproach is yon ethereal vault,
And this deep Vale, its earthly counterpart,
By which and under which we are enclosed
To breathe in peace; we shall moreover find
(If sound, and what we ought to be ourselves,
If rightly we observe and justly weigh)
The inmates not unworthy of their home,
The Dwellers of their Dwelling.
And if this
Were otherwise, we have within ourselves
Enough to fill the present day with joy,
And overspread the future years with hope,
Our beautiful and quiet home, enriched
Already with a stranger whom we love
Deeply, a stranger of our Father's house,
A never-resting Pilgrim of the Sea,
Who finds at last an hour to his content
Beneath our roof. And others whom we love
Will seek us also, Sisters of our hearts,
And one, like them, a Brother of our hearts,
Philosopher and Poet, in whose sight
These mountains will rejoice with open joy.
--Such is our wealth! O Vale of Peace we are
And must be, with God's will, a happy Band.
Yet 'tis not to enjoy that we exist,
For that end only; something must be done:
I must not walk in unreproved delight
These narrow bounds, and think of nothing more,
No duty that looks further, and no care.
Each Being has his office, lowly some
And common, yet all worthy if fulfilled
With zeal, acknowledgment that with the gift
Keeps pace a harvest answering to the seed.
Of ill-advised Ambition and of Pride
I would stand clear, but yet to me I feel
That an internal brightness is vouchsafed
That must not die, that must not pass away.
Why does this inward lustre fondly seek
And gladly blend with outward fellowship?
Why do 'they' shine around me whom I love?
Why do they teach me, whom I thus revere?
Strange question, yet it answers not itself.
That humble Roof embowered among the trees,
That calm fireside, it is not even in them,
Blest as they are, to furnish a reply
That satisfies and ends in perfect rest.
Possessions have I that are solely mine,
Something within which yet is shared by none,
Not even the nearest to me and most dear,
Something which power and effort may impart;
I would impart it, I would spread it wide:
Immortal in the world which is to come--
Forgive me if I add another claim--
And would not wholly perish even in this,
Lie down and be forgotten in the dust,
I and the modest Partners of my days
Making a silent company in death;
Love, knowledge, all my manifold delights,
All buried with me without monument
Or profit unto any but ourselves!
It must not be, if I, divinely taught,
Be privileged to speak as I have felt
Of what in man is human or divine.
While yet an innocent little one, with a heart
That doubtless wanted not its tender moods,
I breathed (for this I better recollect)
Among wild appetites and blind desires,
Motions of savage instinct my delight
And exaltation. Nothing at that time
So welcome, no temptation half so dear
As that which urged me to a daring feat,
Deep pools, tall trees, black chasms, and dizzy crags,
And tottering towers: I loved to stand and read
Their looks forbidding, read and disobey,
Sometimes in act and evermore in thought.
With impulses, that scarcely were by these
Surpassed in strength, I heard of danger met
Or sought with courage; enterprise forlorn
By one, sole keeper of his own intent,
Or by a resolute few, who for the sake
Of glory fronted multitudes in arms.
Yea, to this hour I cannot read a Tale
Of two brave vessels matched in deadly fight,
And fighting to the death, but I am pleased
More than a wise man ought to be; I wish,
Fret, burn, and struggle, and in soul am there.
But me hath Nature tamed, and bade to seek
For other agitations, or be calm;
Hath dealt with me as with a turbulent stream,
Some nursling of the mountains which she leads
Through quiet meadows, after he has learnt
His strength, and had his triumph and his joy,
His desperate course of tumult and of glee.
That which in stealth by Nature was performed
Hath Reason sanctioned: her deliberate Voice
Hath said; be mild, and cleave to gentle things,
Thy glory and thy happiness be there.
Nor fear, though thou confide in me, a want
Of aspirations that have been--of foes
To wrestle with, and victory to complete,
Bounds to be leapt, darkness to be explored;
All that inflamed thy infant heart, the love,
The longing, the contempt, the undaunted quest,
All shall survive, though changed their office, all
Shall live, it is not in their power to die.
Then farewell to the Warrior's Schemes, farewell
The forwardness of soul which looks that way
Upon a less incitement than the Cause
Of Liberty endangered, and farewell
That other hope, long mine, the hope to fill
The heroic trumpet with the Muse's breath!
Yet in this peaceful Vale we will not spend
Unheard-of days, though loving peaceful thought,
A voice shall speak, and what will be the theme?
On Man, on Nature, and on Human Life,
Musing in solitude, I oft perceive
Fair trains of imagery before me rise,
Accompanied by feelings of delight
Pure, or with no unpleasing sadness mixed;
And I am conscious of affecting thoughts
And dear remembrances, whose presence soothes
Or elevates the Mind, intent to weigh
The good and evil of our mortal state.
--To these emotions, whencesoe'er they come,
Whether from breath of outward circumstance,
Or from the Soul--an impulse to herself--
I would give utterance in numerous verse.
Of Truth, of Grandeur, Beauty, Love, and Hope,
And melancholy Fear subdued by Faith;
Of blessed consolations in distress;
Of moral strength, and intellectual Power;
Of joy in widest commonalty spread;
Of the individual Mind that keeps her own
Inviolate retirement, subject there
To Conscience only, and the law supreme
Of that Intelligence which governs all--
I sing:--"fit audience let me find though few!"
So prayed, more gaining than he asked, the Bard--
In holiest mood. Urania, I shall need
Thy guidance, or a greater Muse, if such
Descend to earth or dwell in highest heaven!
For I must tread on shadowy ground, must sink
Deep--and, aloft ascending, breathe in worlds
To which the heaven of heavens is but a veil.
All strength--all terror, single or in bands,
That ever was put forth in personal form--
Jehovah--with his thunder, and the choir
Of shouting Angels, and the empyreal thrones--
I pass them unalarmed. Not Chaos, not
The darkest pit of lowest Erebus,
Nor aught of blinder vacancy, scooped out
By help of dreams--can breed such fear and awe
As fall upon us often when we look
Into our Minds, into the Mind of Man--
My haunt, and the main region of my song
--Beauty--a living Presence of the earth,
Surpassing the most fair ideal Forms
Which craft of delicate Spirits hath composed
From earth's materials--waits upon my steps;
Pitches her tents before me as I move,
An hourly neighbour. Paradise, and groves
Elysian, Fortunate Fields--like those of old
Sought in the Atlantic Main--why should they be
A history only of departed things,
Or a mere fiction of what never was?
For the discerning intellect of Man,
When wedded to this goodly universe
In love and holy passion, shall find these
A simple produce of the common day.
--I, long before the blissful hour arrives,
Would chant, in lonely peace, the spousal verse
Of this great consummation:--and, by words
Which speak of nothing more than what we are,
Would I arouse the sensual from their sleep
Of Death, and win the vacant and the vain
To noble raptures; while my voice proclaims
How exquisitely the individual Mind
(And the progressive powers perhaps no less
Of the whole species) to the external World
Is fitted:--and how exquisitely, too--
Theme this but little heard of among men--
The external World is fitted to the Mind;
And the creation (by no lower name
Can it be called) which they with blended might
Accomplish:--this is our high argument.
--Such grateful haunts foregoing, if I oft
Must turn elsewhere--to travel near the tribes
And fellowships of men, and see ill sights
Of madding passions mutually inflamed;
Must hear Humanity in fields and groves
Pipe solitary anguish; or must hang
Brooding above the fierce confederate storm
Of sorrow, barricadoed evermore
Within the walls of cities--may these sounds
Have their authentic comment; that even these
Hearing, I be not downcast or forlorn!--
Descend, prophetic Spirit! that inspir'st
The human Soul of universal earth,
Dreaming on things to come; and dost possess
A metropolitan temple in the hearts
Of mighty Poets; upon me bestow
A gift of genuine insight; that my Song
With star-like virtue in its place may shine,
Shedding benignant influence, and secure
Itself from all malevolent effect
Of those mutations that extend their sway
Throughout the nether sphere!--And if with this
I mix more lowly matter; with the thing
Contemplated, describe the Mind and Man
Contemplating; and who, and what he was--
The transitory Being that beheld
This Vision;--when and where, and how he lived;
Be not this labour useless. If such theme
May sort with highest objects, then--dread Power!
Whose gracious favour is the primal source
Of all illumination--may my Life
Express the image of a better time,
More wise desires, and simpler manners;--nurse
My Heart in genuine freedom:--all pure thoughts
Be with me;--so shall thy unfailing love
Guide, and support, and cheer me to the end!