Caissa unchained: Carl Portman’s chess odyssey

How does a young person come to chess? A recent feature by Gerald Drissner in Credo, the wealth journal of the Liechtenstein Global Trust, struck certain chords with my own experiences. Credo is lent added poignancy, in that it is published by my good friend and sponsor of Tony Buzan’s mental skills Intelligence Institute Academy, His Serene Highness Prince Philipp Von and Zu Liechtenstein.

In what follows I have made ample use of the Credo feature and I gratefully acknowledge Gerald Drissner’s excellent in depth portrayal of one of the most remarkable characters on the current UK chess scene. Carl Portman is the author of Never Mind the Grandmasters (Steel City Press, £14.99).

According to Drissner, Portman grew up in a remote village called Kynnersley, in the English West Midlands, in a council flat with no heat or electricity. As a child, he would often sit by the door of his room until late into the night. The door had a crack that would let in just enough light for him to study his chess books.

Portman was fascinated by this new world he was discovering, filled with funny terms like forks, pins, bishop sacrifices and poisoned pawns, where the heroes had strange names like Bogoljubow, Nimzowitsch and Karpov. Portman would spend hours sitting on the floor of his room, in the dark, in front of the door. If he left his room, he would likely be beaten. Violence was routine when Portman was growing up. And amid all of this harshness, chess became his refuge.

I find the reference to Nimzowitsch interesting. I too was fascinated by Nimzowitsch’s games when I first started to study chess. His moves were often eccentric, bizarre even, but, at his best, his name and his style conjured up for me an aura of witchcraft and mystical ceremony, which was not to be found in the victories of the pellucid Capablanca or the tempestuous Alekhine.

“Chess was always there in the way a listening friend or attentive pet is always there.” Portman says today. “I couldn’t discuss my emotions with the game, but I could channel and act them out without harming anybody or being harmed.”

Drissner interviewed Portman in his cozy home in Oxfordshire, where he lives with his wife Susan and their dogs Dickens, Ozzie and Raven. Hundreds of chess books are arranged on various shelves. I was delighted, in the photos accompanying the interview, to see one of my own books peeping out from a crowded bookshelf, and I am reliably informed that many more of my 208 published books can be found on the reserve shelves.

In Chateau Portman, coffee is served in chess-themed cups; leaning against the wall is a chess-inspired black and white guitar, like the one Scorpions’ guitarist Michael Schenker used to play. Carl Portman loves hard rock and heavy metal. He’s also a loyal fan of the Aston Villa Football Club and has a fondness for large, venomous spiders, which he keeps as pets.

My acute arachnophobia is one reason why I shall almost certainly never be making the pilgrimage personally to the Portman abode. The most fleeting appearance of an eight legged monster is enough to send me into shock and at home I employ a friend to capture intruders in a matchbox and expel them into our garden, whenever they have the temerity to appear in public.

Carl went on to explain his Chess Credo (appropriately enough for a periodical of the same name). It’s a game where age, gender, background and skin colour don’t matter. Victory belongs to the person who plays the better game, or, as Grandmaster Savielly Tartakower famously said, whoever makes the second-last mistake. When Portman talks about chess, it sounds like he’s talking about a lifelong love affair – a magic that offers solace in difficult times and moments of pure joy. “At home, no one ever said ‘I love you.’ There were no hugs or kisses”, he says. “I was never told I was any good at anything.”

Portman’s mother worked at the bar in a local Working Men’s Club. She was an articulate woman, who as a young mother had taught him good manners: how to use a knife and fork properly, how to walk with a lady to shield her from passing cars. But sadly, his mother was attracted to unstable men – and to alcohol.

When she went grocery shopping, she would come back with cider and cigarettes. Portman never met his biological father, and refers to his stepfather, a farmhand, as “John the Bastard”.

The parallels with my own experience are not insignificant. My father was the founding member of Alcoholics Conspicuous and used to sport a tie emblazoned with the Latin motto Nunc est Bibendum, now is the time for a drink. As far as he was concerned, that exhortation  referred to any and all times!

Carl’s stepfatherly violence left lasting scars. Once, he lost his temper so badly, that he knocked out some of Carl’s mother’s teeth, broke her jaw and one of her arms. At some point, Carl decided to stop crying when his stepfather beat him.

My own father was, in contrast, never physically violent, but he had a lacerating tongue at his disposal (when sufficiently sober to speak, that is.) It certainly took him a long time to realise that he had a potential chess champion as a son, and he really only took notice when (age twenty) I won a large prize (by 1968 standards) in a tournament sponsored by the chess-loving financier Jim Slater. To give my father credit where it’s due, he pivoted swiftly to recognition of my chess abilities — and borrowed the entire sum!

Drissner once again: One rainy day in 1976, 12-year-old Carl wanted to play a game of football at lunchtime. But the weather was bad, so he popped his head inside the geography room where the chess team always met. “It was so quiet!” he recalls. “My house was always so noisy.” The teacher welcomed him and Carl soon became a regular member of the team. At tournaments, tea and cake were served, luxuries he rarely got at home. He immersed himself in studying the French Defence and rook endgames, replaying grandmaster games late into the night by the faint light from the crack in his door. Four years later, in the spring of 1980, Carl won the school championship, and on the bus ride home, the driver congratulated him as he proudly placed the trophy on the seat next to him. “That was the first time in my life that I had achieved something truly special,” he says.

A noisy house also resonates with my own experience. A typical Ray Day at Dulwich College (where I had won a state scholarship) went something like this: school until four pm; play chess match against local school; travel home and do homework; go to bed and soon be woken up by my mother and father shouting at each other; sit on staircase with my younger sister until the shouting subsided, and so to bed, once silence reigned, to snatch some sleep. Then up at seven am to prepare for the journey back to Dulwich.

I went on to become a chess Grandmaster, was awarded the OBE and have published the world record 208 books on chess, mind sports and mental fitness. My sister chose the route of qualifying as a major academic, Professor Emerita and President of the UK Historical Association. So perhaps there is some merit to be found in the formative combination of sleep deprivation and surviving in trepidation of a perpetually inebriated paterfamilas.

Reverting to the Drissner conversation with Carl: The way chess players talk about the game and the reverence they show for it can be baffling for outsiders. What is it about this board and its 32 pieces? Is it a sport, a science or an art?

The French artist Marcel Duchamp once remarked that not all artists are chess players, but that all chess players are artists. Or is chess just a game after all?

In his book Homo Ludens: A Study of the Play-Element in Culture (1938), the great Dutch cultural historian Johan Huizinga examined the importance of play. He concluded that play predates culture and forms the basis of many cultural practices and institutions. According to Huizinga, play is a voluntary activity that takes place within defined times and spaces, follows established rules and serves no practical purpose. It is accompanied by feelings of excitement and joy, and it offers a sense of otherness that people don’t experience in ordinary life.

From battling the legendary Karpov to championship UK chess in prisons and representing the nation at the NATO Championships, Carl Portman’s chess journey, as revealed in his entertaining new book, offers a unique glimpse into the world of amateur play.

This is his story – a tribute to amateur chess, crafted for the great unsung heroes of the game: club players looking to deepen their understanding and improve their own play. Never Mind the Grandmasters is Carl’s third chess book, drawing heavily from his popular CHESS magazine columns. Revised and packed with bonus content, even his most dedicated fans will find fresh insights and practical tips on nearly every page.

Blending chess history with down-to-earth wisdom, Carl guides readers from pub function rooms to Europe’s grandest chess halls, celebrating the amateur players who form the bedrock of the game.

Carl’s hero is the World Champion (1975-1985) Anatoly Karpov, and the book recalls what happened when Carl finally crossed swords with his role model. Caissa, by the way, is the legendary goddess of chess. The ingenious Heinrich Fraenkel, for many years chess columnist of the New Statesman, used to write under the nom de plume of Assiac, Caissa in reverse. Carl has also made use of Caissa in his email addresses, so this week’s columnar title seemed doubly appropriate.

Anatoly Karpov vs. Carl Portman

Chartres, Simultaneous display, 2019

Notes based on those by Carl from his book

1. c4

This was it. I was actually playing him. We shook hands and he played 1. c4 – much to my annoyance, as I had counted on 1. d4 and prepared something especially for him.

1… e6 2. d4

Relief! We have transposed back into the variation I had been seeking.

2… d5 3. Nc3 a6

The Janowski variation of the Queen’s Gambit Declined. Karpov paused at my table. I could daydream that my move brought back echoes in his mind of his 1980 clash with Tony Miles who shocked the then world champion with 1. e4 a6!?, and won!

4. cxd5 exd5 5. Bf4 c6 6. e3 Bd6 7. Bg3 Nf6

In my preparation I knew that I wanted to play my knight to e7 here followed by …Bf5, but with Karpov arriving quickly at your table, makes one play a different move. Instead of the text, 7… Ne7 8. Bd3 Bf5 9. Nf3 O-O 10. O-O leads to a steady game. In fact, 7… Bf5 is also possible and if 8. Qb3 b5!? demonstrates the fact that the flexible …a6 on move three almost inevitably comes in handy later: 9. a4 b4 10. Nce2 a5.

8. Bd3

Now I was annoyed at myself. I cannot put my bishop on f5, but where should it go?

8… Be6 9. Nge2!

Who am I to award Anatoly Karpov an exclamation mark? Yet he instantly played this move, which is better than 9. Nf3 because the knight is heading for f4. If I remove it then White will have the bishop pair.

9… Bxg3

Had I more time to contemplate, I would not have exchanged.

10. hxg3

I had no intention of castling short now that he had the open h-file.

10… Nbd7 11. Nf4

I sensed tactics for White and that I could go down suddenly if not careful.

11… Qe7 12. a3 b5

I knew this was a bit dodgy, and that the c-file would be good for White, but I wanted to try to be active.

13. Na2

The hallmark of a great player: not just that Karpov found this idea of Nc3-a2-b4, but that he played it so quickly. I was beginning to get that sinking feeling here, but I chivvied myself up and reminded myself that there were still plenty of pieces on the board.

13… c5 14. dxc5 Nxc5 15. Nb4

Ganging up on the isolated d-pawn, of course.

15… Nxd3+ 16. Qxd3 Qd7

Going to b7 was a bit better here.

17. Nh5!

17… Nxh5

There was basically no choice, as 17… O-O would be a terrible mistake in the heat of the moment. Here 18. Nxf6+ gxf6 19. Qxh7# would truly have been an ‘oops’ moment.

18. Rxh5 g6?!

Not best and I knew it. Actually, even 18… f5 was possible, but the best move was probably  18… h6.

19. Nxd5

It had been coming, but I refused to panic.

19… Bxd5

Forced, as there were just too many good squares for the knight.

20. Rxd5 Qe7 21. Rd1 O-O 22. Rd7 Qf6 23. Qd4

In principle I did not want to exchange queens. I would just be a pawn down against one of the legends of chess in a rook endgame. With no time to think, I was going to put my queen on c6 aiming at g2, but played…

23… Qxd4

… which the engine thinks is probably best.

24. R1xd4 f5 25. g4 fxg4 26. Rxg4 Rf7 27. Rgd4 Ra7 28. Rxa7 Rxa7 29. Rd6

An example of a superior rook, being very flexible and controlling more squares than its adversary. The bulldog spirit kicked in: still a bullet left in the chamber.

29… Kf7 30. Rb6 Ke7 31. g4 Kd7 32. g5 Kc7 33. Rf6

An organizer came up and said, ‘Englishman, you are the last to finish’. Karpov had beaten everyone else, and he would beat me too – but not before we played some moves one-to-one in a rook and pawn endgame. Perhaps this moment was precisely what 12-year-old me would have dreamed of: mano-a-mano against one of the greatest players of all time.

I now made another error. I should have placed my king on d8, leading to 33… Kd8 34. Rf8+ Ke7 35. Rf6 b4! 36. axb4 Rb7 37. Rxa6 Rxb4 38. Ra7+ Ke6 39. Rxh7. White will surely win, but there are still a few moves left in it. Instead I played:

33… Kc8??

and the game was soon over.

34. Rf8+ Kb7 35. Rf7+ Kb6 36. Rxa7 Kxa7 37. Kd2 Kb6 38. Kd3 Kc5 39. b4+ Kd5 40. f4 Ke6 41. e4 Kd6 42. Kd4 Black resigns 1-0

I had been beaten by the man who had held the title of world chess champion, for ten years, undone by a single pawn – belying the obvious gulf in class throughout the game. There’s a lesson to be learned for those beginners who are keen to utter, “its just a pawn”.

I shall leave the subject of his masterclass for another day, but I asked him about chess in prisons, which as many know is my passion. His reply was outstanding and his words are very much etched onto my brain: “Chess gives prisoners the keys back to society, but society itself needs to help them.”

Ray’s 206th book, “  Chess in the Year of the King  ”, written in collaboration with Adam Black, and his 207th, “  Napoleon and Goethe: The Touchstone of Genius  ” (which discusses their relationship with chess) can be ordered from both Amazon and Blackwells. His 208th, the world record for chess books, written jointly with chess playing artist Barry Martin,  Chess through the Looking Glass ,  is now also available from Amazon. 

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