Your Move

Childcare has changed during my lifetime.

I thought of this because of the recent death of Russian chess Grand Master; Victor Korchnoi.

When I was nine years old, my father worked in a Polytechnic in Central London.

Those of you under the age of thirty, may have to Google ‘Polytechnic’. And those over that age, should campaign for their re-invention.

During the summers of the late 1970s — when I was nine — my mother would go to summer school. She was working part-time to complete the fine art degree that circumstances had prevented her from pursuing when she was a young woman.

So that left me with Dad for a couple of weeks at a time.

A gifted physicist and teacher for sure but even he would admit, not a natural baby sitter. And he had to work.

So often I was left to wander the corridors of a 1960’s concrete building, wondering what on earth Physics could be whilst Dad taught students who, judging by their faces when I peered in through the door of the lecture hall, were having exactly the same thought.

It was boring and a bored nine year old is going to get into trouble. It is, like those found in Physics text books, a fundamental law of nature.

I cant remember the exact details of the tipping point but the building is still there so it cant have been too bad, but it was enough for Dad to realise that I needed some stimulation.

Why he thought dropping me off at an international Chess tournament that was taking place across town would provide that stimulation is beyond me, but that’s what he did.

With five pounds in my pocket. For lunch.

A nine year old boy, left on his own in a packed hall of chess players and spectators at a time when mobile phones were as futuristic as a day trip to Mars.

What could possible go wrong?

Well. Nothing went wrong.

I had a great time sitting watching games on side tables and every-so-often glancing up to see men (in white coats, I promise!) move huge cardboard chess pieces on the vertical board that showed the crowd each move from the game on the top table.

Victor Korchnoi was playing in the tournament and during one of the times that he wasn't, I asked him for his autograph.

Again this is something that has changed.

People then, were very respectful of the competitors of any sport and to interrupt them in a tournament could be seen as bad manners.

No launching yourself at a player to demand selfies!

But my clear memory is of him picking up my book, scribbling his name and passing it back to me with a huge smile on his face.

He said something to me which I didn’t understand but with the benefit of hindsight this maybe because he was speaking Russian.

Maybe he was asking where my parents were?