Having finally realised that chess and my state of health are mutually damaging, the time is fast approaching for me to hang up my pawns for good. The editor has kindly invited me to mark the occasion by sharing some wonderful memories.

In 1958, aged 18, I joined the Glasgow Chess Club, the strongest in Scotland from its inception in 1828 until about 1970. Most of the Scottish team were members, including W. A. Fairhurst, a former British Champion who had held his own with the world's best, pre-war. I was privileged to play him on quite a few occasions. He was an outstanding strategist and willing to teach what he knew. On the few occasions when he had an inferior position, however, he had the unfortunate habit of telling his opponent, "The position looks unclear/level. I think we'll call it a draw." No-one dared to decline such an offer!

With frequent club practice against the best Scottish players, who also included Mike Fallone, a great combinative talent, Gerald Bonner, whose style was similar to that of Karpov, Ken McAlpine, and strong English "immigrants" like Michael MacDonald-Ross, and later David Levy and Brian Denman, my game had to improve, and, in 1962 I made the Scottish team for the Students' Olympiad at Marianske Lazne in Czechoslovakia. Among my memories is that of Spassky and Gufeld drawing up chairs to watch four of us playing bridge. They were natural and friendly - even though it must have been dangerous for them openly to fraternise with Capitalists - and without any sense of their unquestioned importance as chessplayers. It was with pride that Gufeld told me, "I see Glasgow Rangers play last year against Kiev Dynamo. Very good team!" My best game, a 26 move win against Israel, was published in Shachmatny Bulletin, the top Russian chess magazine, a few months later.

In those days, the West of Scotland Championship and Glasgow Club Championship took place over the 12 weeks before and after Christmas. They involved virtually the same players and were similarly prestigious, with superb silver trophies engraved with the winners' names from well back into the 19th century. In 1963, I was runner-up in the latter, a half-point behind Fairhurst, with whom I drew twice. On the strength of this, I was selected as the sole Scot to play in the British Championship at Bath that year, where I started with 4/6, lying equal 3rd after the first week, but finishing with 0/5. I played Penrose in round 7, sacrificed a piece for the three pawns around his king, prematurely, and in subsequent games kept trying too hard to win.

In 1964 I won the Glasgow C.C. Championship and was rewarded with selection for the full Scottish Olympiad team in Tel Aviv; but I had to withdraw three days before the event as my father had an accident. In 1965 I came closest to winning the Scottish Championship in the eight times I competed in it, between 1959 and 1980. In the final round I lost to Dr. Aitken, who tied for first in his 9th win in the event. A win would have put me equal first.

1966 saw my first win in the West of Scotland Championship and selection again for the Scottish team at the famous Havana Olympiad. No-one who played in it could ever forget it. Fidel Castro took a keen interest and involvement in it, to impress the Soviet Union and to demonstrate the undoubted educational and cultural advances his government had brought to the ordinary Cuban. We were put up at what had been the Havana Hilton. The opening ceremony included a "son et lumiere" living chess demonstration of a Capablanca game and songs in front of 40,000 in a stadium. The event lasted four and a half weeks and was reported to have cost $1m - an ordinary Cuban I spoke to complained to me that the country could not afford it. He was right, judging from the condition of the cars - many had damaged windscreens and faulty steering - and the lifts and toilets of our run-down hotel frequently needed repair.

Havana Olympiad 1966
From left to right: Hugh Holmes; Michael Freeman; William Fairhurst; Maria del Carmen Marin (local guide); Kenneth McAlpine and Craig Pritchett.
Source: Michael Fallone

On arrival, standing in the foyer, I was personally flattered and most surprised when Spassky came up to me and shook hands, remembering me from 1962, and I introduced him to the rest of our team, none of whom had played in the Students' event. It was the gesture of a warm and considerate man, unaffected by any sense of grandeur.

We were treated to several banquets at the presidential palace, where we were individually introduced to Castro. At other times, banquets were held in the open air in country estates or in a square in the old Spanish colonial part of town, with entertainment laid on. Chauffeur-driven limousines and a young female guide/ interpreter were available to each team at (almost) any time, and we we often drove to a lovely beach where we swam and watched an American warship patrolling. At the hotel pool, every morning, Pachman, the Czech GM and subsequent brave dissident, swam 24 lengths. He had a limp, so perhaps he was exercising as therapy. We visited a night-club and were invited to a party at a fine old house where, under what our host mistakenly thought was the influence of drink - I had to explain I always act that way! The Cubans were very thrilled by the event and we, as much as the famous players, were besieged by autograph-hunters when we walked out of the hotel. One of our team, 17-year-old Craig Pritchett, vaguely resembled Bobby Fischer, and youngsters would run after us shouting, "Feesher, Feesher," which he rather enjoyed. I was given a letter by some teenage girls to post to the Beatles.

Havana 1966
 Craig Pritchett (aged 17) playing against Luxemburg. On the neighbouring board Michael Freeman (r) is facing Norbert Dietrich. Fairhurst spectates.
(Photo: Michael Fallone)

It was of course marvellous to watch the chess legends at close range and listen to their post-mortems. I sat next to Tal as he blitzed Robert Byrne. I had good results and a plus score until losing my last five games - all that wining and dining took its toll! The closing ceremony was a monster simultaneous display in Havana's main square starting at 10pm, by floodlight, each of the 300+ players against 10 Cubans. Petrosian, the World Champion, had opponents including Castro and Che Guevara. One of mine showed ingenuity, among other attributes, by employing, while I was at other boards, a king-leap from one side of the board to the other whenever mate threatened. A huge deluge at midnight brought a premature end to this unique event, which was commemorated by a postage stamp. Everyone received a personally initialled box of 50 large cigars and a chess set in a superb hand-carved fitted box.

I held my place for the 1968 Olympiad, at Lugano in Switzerland. By then, the duration had sensibly been reduced to a three week event. I travelled ahead of the rest of the Scottish team and, waiting at Milan Airport, happened to see Bobby Fischer, also alone, at the newstand. I introduced myself and mentioned we had a 16-year-old boy in our team (Roddy McKay) who would be thrilled to meet him, if he could wait. The plane was late, but he still waited for an hour with me before politely saying he had to go. During that time, he played over some games from the recent British Championship, commenting on the low standard. I asked him who he thought would win the match between Petrosian and his challenger, Spassky. General opinion then was that Petrosian's style, being very difficult to beat, would prevail. Bobby said the winner would be whoever the Russians wanted it to be. On that basis, I suggested that Spassky, being the younger man, would be better able to defend the title three years hence, and therefore win the match. Bobby was absolutely natural and a pleasure to chat to, perhaps because, unlike many people, I wasn't looking to take advantage of him in any way, or because he simply wanted to make a young lad's day. Phenomenon though he was in chess circles, he was not then known to the general public, nor the icon he was to become; and I had no idea that an hour's chat with him was something exceptional. He found the lighting poor in the Olympiad playing hall and withdrew from the US team very early on.

My best results were a draw against GM Parma of Yugoslavia, the 1961 World Junior Champion, and a win against the Dutch IM Langeweg, enabling England to pip the Dutch and win the B section. For this, as an inducement promised before the match, the English non-playing captain, Alexander, bought me a drink. It didn't cost him much: as my friends would expect, I chose orange squash! Gufeld was there as a visitor and, to my surprise, warmly greeted me, introducing his companion, someone called Bronstein. He gave me a coveted Spartakiade badge: in Communist countries, badges are held in high regard, so I knew it was a significant gesture. I had nothing adequate to give in return, only a new 5p coin.

The 1970 Olympiad at Siegen in West Germany was to be my last. By contrast, it was the least exciting. We were put up at a comfortable hunting lodge in the countryside with two or three other teams, including Australia. They had the extrovert New Yorker Walter Browne in their team as he qualified for them by birth - and he used to challenge allcomers in the cafe/restaurant to 5-minute games for the equivalent of 75p a game. He made money. He also played poker well, but David Levy and I took him to the cleaners at bridge - not his game!

In that year I also won the Glasgow Club championship for the second time, with 100% - it was by then not as strong as before - and again in 1971 and 1976. I had a second win of the West title in 1972.

In 1977, I moved to Buckingham and played for the Aylesbury team and later for Milton Keynes, entering strong international open events such as Jersey, Lloyd's Bank in London and the Benedictine in Manchester. My tendency to tire in later rounds became more marked: in 1981 at Lloyd's Bank, I needed 2.5 points from my last four games for an IM norm, or 1.5 for an FM norm. I lost all four, from superior or level positions, refusing draw offers. My only loss in the first five rounds had been to Smyslov! In 1984 I dropped anchor near Ringwood and have played at Bournemouth ever since.

As a boy, I was impressed to read that Botvinnik, if his opponent had left the board, would go and find him when he had moved; and I have always done the same. By contrast, I have seen very ordinary players pretending to be deep in thought in the same circumstances, so that their opponent will not realise it is their move. Some people are constantly on the look-out for "angles". It is more important, I believe, to be a sportsman than, by taking advantage, to be a winner. Whatever standards of morality are exhibited in playing a game, you can be sure the same will apply when more important issues are at stake.

Having made that point, I would add that, with these provisos, I have always played as hard as I could to win - I see no point in doing less whatever the endeavour.

Updated 11/1/2020