Alan Fraser, RIP

I hardly ever post much at this site (or anywhere else much, for that matter) and today there are two. Both are some words recalling old friends who have recently slipped away. This post is about Alan Fraser, a former member of Beckenham & Bromley chess club and, for some years, a regular member of the club's London League team that I led.

Always a reliable team member, Alan would often score well against much stronger opposition, especially if the game didn't go on too long. One in particular, when we were playing a much stronger team, Alan's opponent noisily complained about having to play someone with such a low grade relative to his own. He played quickly and carelessly, whereas Alan played in his normal, unhurried style. The next thing we knew, we're one point ahead as Alan won a rook for nothing, leading to more noise as his opponent had to resign and leave in a huff! He was very pleased with that result, and rightfully so.

I only play the odd weekend tournament, but whenever I did there was a very good chance I'd find him there, and we would exchange the usual pleasantries, and gossip a little about mutual acquaintances. And if he wasn't there, he was usually playing elsewhere. He really did play an awful lot of chess, by anyone's standards.

I sometimes wondered whether he occasionally "managed" his grade, perhaps making draws at tournaments where he stood no chance of winning, just to ensure that he wouldn't be pushed up to a higher graded section in future events. Or maybe it was just the stamina failed him in better positions, who knows. In any case, the only occasion I remember playing him myself - an end-of-season, time-handicapped fun event - and he beat me!

Alan was a quietly spoken chap, but with a surprising sense of humour, happy to share opinions  that might be considered controversial within the small world of UK chess. There's a little more, with some pictures, here.

Farewell, Alan.

Nigel Jones, RIP

I was saddened to read of the death of my old work colleague, Nigel Jones, this week. We'd been colleagues at the ill-fated IT Partners, a consultancy setup by the computer manufacturer, ICL, just before the early-nineties recession. Nigel was a really nice guy who had a senior operational role there, whilst I was still pretty wet behind the ears (as they say). One of relatively few to be on paid client work, Nigel was working in the UK and all-over, whilst somehow managing the workload of a county councillor.

I only learned of his death last night, whilst repeating the story of how "a friend of mine became an MP by mistake". This was Nigel, who stood in his local constituency of Cheltenham for the Liberal Democrats in the 1992 election. At that time, Cheltenham was a safe Tory seat, and Nigel was not expecting to change that. However, it was too soon it seems, for the citizens of Cheltenham to accept a black MP, official Tory candidate or not. The rightfully aggrieved losing candidate was John Taylor, who has an interesting later story of his own.

To his shock and horror, Nigel was returned as the MP for Cheltenham.

I can still remember talking to him about his unexpected career move in the office the following week. It was a mixed blessing, he said: an MP's salary was less than he currently had, and although I'm sure he was excited by the challenge, there was the danger of being dumped out at the following election and struggling to re-establish himself in a career where five years out of the business is a long time. He needn't have worried, as Cheltenham returned him again and again, until in 2005 he entered the Lords.

We met by chance a couple of years later on a train to Paddington. He didn't seem to be having much fun: MPs were subject to a lot of abuse, he said; and there wasn't great support for day to day duties. He'd just come from a ceremonial tree-planting ceremony at a Swindon hospital. But there was no hole for it, and the ground was frozen hard. They'd had to implore the press photographers not to show that Nigel was holding the tree just to keep it from falling over, as it couldn't be planted in the ground. Funny story, in its way, though he was to suffer a much worse insult in 2000, when he was attacked by a sword-wielding, mentally ill guy.

Farewell, Nigel.