Much-loved Edinburgh chess player Johnny Marr dies aged 93

Anyone who has played chess at a formal level – be it in evening leagues or at weekend congresses – will know that one of the more endearing/alarming/unnerving (delete as appropriate) features of the game is that young children are capable of inflicting defeat on experienced adult players.

Certainly my own experience – 35 years of regular playing without ever pushing on from a low-to-middling standard – is that, come the final round of a tournament, with money and perhaps a trophy up for grabs, it can be disheartening to be drawn against a small child who has achieved a similar score and who is obviously quite handy. Better to face a known-quantity adult rather than some Jonathan Rowson in the making – and better still (although everyone is too polite to say this) to face some really old campaigner who might get tired or muddled at a critical point in proceedings. That’s the theory at least, but theories can be dangerous and generalisations inaccurate – as shown by Johnny Marr, a much-loved Edinburgh chess player who died last week at the age of 93. Marr continued to play with great enthusiasm right up to the end, and was one of those resourceful players who could, at times, seem markedly stronger than their numerical grading might indicate. His formal strength peaked in 1974 at a decidedly useful 1904 grading points (players of this strength tend to play in the highest sections of weekend congresses without having any realistic chance of winning them), and stayed above the 1800 level for the remainder of that decade. As he entered his eighth decade, Marr’s grading dropped to – and stabilised at – an entirely respectable 1600ish – before sinking to 1550 as he reached nonagenarian status and finally – in this season’s grading list – ending at 1428. Those numbers don’t begin to tell the full story, however, and numerous opponents in the last few years – especially those who didn’t know him and who mistakenly assumed they were facing some fairly weak old bloke – will have been startled to find themselves on the receiving end of some very sharp play and an eventual defeat. The canny old guy in the baseball cap was perfectly capable of showing glimmers of his former strength, and possessed a level of experience that few on the Scottish tournament circuit could rival. “He had a wonderful ability to hang on to a position and create subtleties and traps even when all looked hopeless,” said former Edinburgh chess club secretary Bill Marshall after hearing of his friend’s death. “Watching him playing strong visitors or over-confident juniors was always interesting. You could see the light slowly dawning on them that this old guy was vastly more experienced than them and damned crafty! And then when they found out just how old he was, there was usually a look of astonishment and respect.” Marr was still playing – and still winning those crafty games – until very recently. At the big Edinburgh congress held in George Heriot’s School at the start of April he lost in the first round of his section but won the next four games to finish joint-second. He played in a small club tournament just a couple of weekends before his death, and had long been a familiar face on the Scottish chess scene, especially in the Lothians, where even in his later years he would cycle to matches and tournaments. “He was without doubt the chief influence on my play and for the love of the game,” said the chess blogger Geoff Chandler in a posting on the Chess Scotland noticeboard. “Whenever I played a good game I could not wait to show him to get his approval … A great man, a great chess player, always ready with a quick joke, never a bad word about anybody, greatly loved by all.” Chandler is sure that he and Marr played more than 1,000 games – “and none of them were dull affairs” – dating back to the mid-1970s. As well as being the oldest chess club in the UK (it was founded in 1822) and possibly the second-oldest in the world, Edinburgh chess club is unusual in owning its own premises – a lovely tenement flat on Alva Street in the west end. Chandler – himself a strong player – had a spell as the live-in caretaker, and Marr’s love of the game was such that he would often stay into the early hours to play just one more game. “I was usually on the receiving end,” says Chandler. “Slowly I got better. These games helped me no end.” In his working days, Marr was a glassblower at the Edinburgh Crystal glassworks, and he joined the Edinburgh club in 1966. He had, Marshall recalls, “a wily and imaginative style that could occasionally trip up the very best” – and he was an ideal club man. “Whenever a team captain was short of a player," says Marshall, "Johnny would be happy to step in if it was legal to do so. Whenever a new player or a visitor to the city came into the club it was always Johnny that offered to play them first. He loved showing the bright young juniors that old folk could play a damn good game too, but always encouraged them to improve.” My own memories of Johnny Marr are mainly of a nodding acquaintance who was often to be found watching – and then enthusiastically analysing – the games of other players after his own efforts had ended. We played one formal game – in 1994 at the Lothians allegro tournament in Lasswade – but much clearer in my mind, partly because it was recent and partly because it fits with the widely held impression of the man and his style of play, is a between-rounds encounter at the Edinburgh club this past winter. We were both playing in a small Sunday tournament, on a day when the streets were lethal with ice and hard-packed snow – not that this stopped the 93-year-old from showing up. Between rounds, Marr asked if I fancied a ten-minute friendly. I was playing well, was soon a piece up and then a whole rook up, in what felt like a cruise of a position. But then I did what countless other opponents must have done over the years: relaxed a little, became complacent, and started to let the position drift. Suddenly the wily old customer sitting across the board seemed to morph into a much stronger player, and before I knew it, to avoid checkmate, I had to give up a heap of material. That was that – it wasn’t long before I was reaching out my hand to resign. My opponent said thanks, and then chuckled. Seems it was a typical Johnny Marr game. Condolences to his son Donald – himself a strong chess player – and to the rest of the family.

Want to discuss other issues? Join the debate on our new Scottish Voices forum

Related posts:

1. Endgames and economics at the Scottish chess championships
2. In world of chess Vishy government remains undefeated
3. Why are the Scots absent from British chess championship?