Vivian Martin
Vivian Martin, former member of the Young Chelsea, died recently at the age of fifty-nine. For the last fifteen years or so he had distanced himself from the bridge world, throwing himself wholeheartedly into various business ventures, but he is still fondly remembered by those who knew him.
Although he graced the tournament and duplicate world, he was more at home at the rubber bridge table. He worked at the London School of Bridge, and then started his own club, The Townhouse, on Cromwell Road. The Townhouse was popular with those who attended, but didn't achieve long-term stability. Funnily enough, though, its closure led to a new opportunity, of which more later.
To dwell on the life of a bridge player for a moment, Vivian was talented and imaginative. He abhorred authority, however. A couple of articles in IPBM and Bridge Magazine satirised the pursuit of Green Points and rankings. These were not calculated to make friends out of the powers that be. And didn't. I only partnered him once, in a Crockford's Cup qualifying round (there was a multiple teams in those days before the knockout proper started). He was a last minute substitute, but you couldn’t do much better at short notice. What struck me at the time wasn’t just that he clearly knew how to play, it was that bridge, like life was to be enjoyed. Rather than fume at the foibles of his opponents, he revelled in them. It would be fair to say that he never enjoyed major tournament success (although getting to the semi-finals of the Gold Cup is no mean achievement), but he did win the Two Star Pairs with Pete Steckelmacher in 1975 with a tremendous score, in the days when the event was a must for all
serious players.
I knew him socially more than at the table: there was a local pub we shared, where I once witnessed him taking part in an olive oil tasting. Quite how a man who smoked sixty Capstan Full Strength a day could taste anything at all beats me, but he identified all the various types on offer without difficulty. This was part of his new life. After the closure of his bridge club, he hooked up with Val Dugdale, then owner of a successful coffee shop. He applied his considerable intellect to learning all he could about the origins of various beans and worked hard to justify his place in the business.
Subsequently, he and Val parted company and he set up in another trade, opening a chain of delicatessens (it was about this time that the aforementioned olive oil tasting took place), including one in the King's Road, at the other end from the London School of Bridge.
Eventually it was time to move on, and with his new partner Sue he invested in a Post Office/Shop in the West Country. Unfortunately, he was sold a pig in a poke – the business took nothing like what had been promised and it had to be given up. Vivian pursued legal action against the vendor, successfully, I am happy to relate.
There's a lot one can add - various anecdotes which probably don't bear repeating in an earnest tribute can be told and retold in saloon bars. It's not inappropriate, however, to recount one of his party tricks. He would challenge anyone to open a dictionary, choose an obscure word, and he would spell it and define it. Long-time friend and erstwhile bridge partner Bob Rowlands swears that he never managed to catch Vivian out.
Those who remember Vivian will remember that he had a joie de vivre, a questing intelligence and, when interested in what he was doing, a knack for hard work. His success at the bridge table will not be measured by trophies or the dreaded master points, but by the fact that he made sure that playing with or against him was a pleasure.
Ian Payn