Did you ever have to prove you were a chess player?
Posted: Sun Jan 03, 2016 6:54 pm
The London Chess Champion and the Police
Otago Witness, Issue 2012, 15 September 1892, Page 36
The London Chess Champion and the Police
The London Evening News and Post gives the following very interesting account of an experience that betel Mr Moriau, the champion of the City of London Chess Club, and which he recently related at the club:-
"On the 1st of February I moved to new offices in the city. One evening having to play a match game at the club, I stayed at my offices till club time. On going downstairs, accompanied by my clerk, I found the street door locked. I knocked violently against the door in the hope of attracting the attention of some passer-by. A man came up, to whom I explained the situation, begging him to fetch a policeman, in the belief that in London policemen could do anything. By-and-bye a policeman came to the door. I had to answer a number of questions, but the upshot was that I was to be left to pass the night in my offices. Scores of people soon congregated in the street, and poked fun at me on the softness of my prospective bed. The situation was not an agreeable one, and moreover, I stood a chance of losing my game by forfeit. So, at length, I asked the policeman if he had a skeleton key. He answered in a sharp voice that the members of the police force did not carry skeleton keys to open other people's doors, and cunningly inquired if I had a skeleton key myself. My answer was that skeleton keys were not in my line. Then the policeman said that he would go and see what he could do to help me. By-and-bye, I saw through the aperture for letters that an inspector of police and two more policemen I had come to look after me and I told the inspector that I was the man whose name was printed on the door plate. Meanwhile, my clerk had. grown impatient, and had gone upstairs. Presently he called to me to come up to him. There was a window near the roof, which looked over a yard, and on the other side of the yard I saw some masons who were still busy in making alterations in a house. I called out to them, asking them to stretch a ladder across the yard from window to window. This they did, and I and my clerk crawled across to the other house. The house proved to be the Poulterers' Arms. On going into the street I found that the police force was not to be evaded by my flank movement. A policeman confronted me, and insisted on taking me back to my office door, against which the inspector was knocking louder than ever. I explained that I had got out of a window, and was about to go away. Thereupon I was politely informed by the inspector that I must find someone to identify me, or he must take me to the station. I was walked back to the Poulterers' Arms, followed by a crowd of people. There the inspector turned to me, and asked me the odd but momentous question, 'Do you know any barmaid here?' Then I was taken, into the bar, and every barmaid in turn was asked if she knew me. It was rather trying to my feeling 'to be told by pretty lips in the presence of members of the city force that I was unknown to them. But as it is with skeleton keys so it is with barmaids — they are not in my line. Then we left the Poulterers' Arms, and as we passed the Old Burton the inspector again asked me, 'Do you know a barmaid here?' The previous experience was repeated, and we set out for the police station. Then a sudden idea struck me. I told the inspector that I had the honour to belong to the City of London Chess Club, and handed him a paragraph relating to some blindfold play by me. Thereupon a policeman who was walking behind came up and said, 'If this gentleman be Mr Moriau he is a distinguished chess player.' Whether I am distinguished or not is another matter, but the 'bobby' said so. The inspector read the notice paper and said, I should very much like to play a game of chess with you.' I replied, 'It is very easy, Mr Inspector. Come to the Salutation Tavern, and we shall have a game. Besides, you will find a lot of people there ready to testify that I am Mr Moriau.' But the inspector told me he was very sorry that the Salutation Tavern was out of his beat, and that if I could not find anyone to identify me he would be only doing his duty in taking me to the station. Then I luckily happened to mention that if the manager of the City Restaurant was there he would know me at once. I was soon afterwards identified, and went to the Salutation, where Blackburne was the first to hear my story. Its moral seems to be that to put yourself right with the police if you do not know a barmaid you ought to be, a chess player."
Otago Witness, Issue 2012, 15 September 1892, Page 36
The London Chess Champion and the Police
The London Evening News and Post gives the following very interesting account of an experience that betel Mr Moriau, the champion of the City of London Chess Club, and which he recently related at the club:-
"On the 1st of February I moved to new offices in the city. One evening having to play a match game at the club, I stayed at my offices till club time. On going downstairs, accompanied by my clerk, I found the street door locked. I knocked violently against the door in the hope of attracting the attention of some passer-by. A man came up, to whom I explained the situation, begging him to fetch a policeman, in the belief that in London policemen could do anything. By-and-bye a policeman came to the door. I had to answer a number of questions, but the upshot was that I was to be left to pass the night in my offices. Scores of people soon congregated in the street, and poked fun at me on the softness of my prospective bed. The situation was not an agreeable one, and moreover, I stood a chance of losing my game by forfeit. So, at length, I asked the policeman if he had a skeleton key. He answered in a sharp voice that the members of the police force did not carry skeleton keys to open other people's doors, and cunningly inquired if I had a skeleton key myself. My answer was that skeleton keys were not in my line. Then the policeman said that he would go and see what he could do to help me. By-and-bye, I saw through the aperture for letters that an inspector of police and two more policemen I had come to look after me and I told the inspector that I was the man whose name was printed on the door plate. Meanwhile, my clerk had. grown impatient, and had gone upstairs. Presently he called to me to come up to him. There was a window near the roof, which looked over a yard, and on the other side of the yard I saw some masons who were still busy in making alterations in a house. I called out to them, asking them to stretch a ladder across the yard from window to window. This they did, and I and my clerk crawled across to the other house. The house proved to be the Poulterers' Arms. On going into the street I found that the police force was not to be evaded by my flank movement. A policeman confronted me, and insisted on taking me back to my office door, against which the inspector was knocking louder than ever. I explained that I had got out of a window, and was about to go away. Thereupon I was politely informed by the inspector that I must find someone to identify me, or he must take me to the station. I was walked back to the Poulterers' Arms, followed by a crowd of people. There the inspector turned to me, and asked me the odd but momentous question, 'Do you know any barmaid here?' Then I was taken, into the bar, and every barmaid in turn was asked if she knew me. It was rather trying to my feeling 'to be told by pretty lips in the presence of members of the city force that I was unknown to them. But as it is with skeleton keys so it is with barmaids — they are not in my line. Then we left the Poulterers' Arms, and as we passed the Old Burton the inspector again asked me, 'Do you know a barmaid here?' The previous experience was repeated, and we set out for the police station. Then a sudden idea struck me. I told the inspector that I had the honour to belong to the City of London Chess Club, and handed him a paragraph relating to some blindfold play by me. Thereupon a policeman who was walking behind came up and said, 'If this gentleman be Mr Moriau he is a distinguished chess player.' Whether I am distinguished or not is another matter, but the 'bobby' said so. The inspector read the notice paper and said, I should very much like to play a game of chess with you.' I replied, 'It is very easy, Mr Inspector. Come to the Salutation Tavern, and we shall have a game. Besides, you will find a lot of people there ready to testify that I am Mr Moriau.' But the inspector told me he was very sorry that the Salutation Tavern was out of his beat, and that if I could not find anyone to identify me he would be only doing his duty in taking me to the station. Then I luckily happened to mention that if the manager of the City Restaurant was there he would know me at once. I was soon afterwards identified, and went to the Salutation, where Blackburne was the first to hear my story. Its moral seems to be that to put yourself right with the police if you do not know a barmaid you ought to be, a chess player."