Whether Bennett, as a player, was ever quite the equal of Cook or Roberts it is unnecessary to discuss here. He beat each of them in turn for the championship, and can well afford to rest contented with that record. In early life Bennett’s health was indifferent, and his nervous and highly strung temperament was by no means in his favour. One of his peculiarities was that, when in training for a championship or other important match, he would never play with anyone, but invariably shut himself up in a room alone, and played one ball against the other, or simply practised one or two special strokes by the hour together. His contention was that a man required all his nervous energy for the match itself, and ought not to waste any of it in practice. There was, doubtless, something in his theory, for few men have ever shown to more advantage ‘in the pit;’ and it was sheer pluck and determination that enabled him to defeat Cook for the championship, as his opponent held a long lead when within a couple of hundred of home. A very severe accident in the summer of 1881 caused Bennett to resign the championship, and, though he completely recovered from its effects, he wisely gave up playing in public. He will be better remembered as a teacher than as a player, for he has virtually devoted his whole life to instruction, and with remarkable success.
In December 1873 Messrs. Burroughes & Watts promoted the first of a series of handicaps, with which they afterwards became so much identified. The important effect that these handicaps had upon the game is scarcely calculable, and, thanks to the liberality of the promoters, several players who afterwards took prominent positions, but might otherwise never have been heard of, were first introduced to public notice. These handicaps gave such men exactly the chance they needed. The following sixteen players took part in this handicap:—W. Cook, J. Roberts, jun., Joseph Bennett, T. Taylor, F. Bennett, S. W. Stanley, Harry Evans, W. Dufton, J. Roberts, sen., T. Morris, A. Hughes, John Bennett, L. Kilkenny, Alfred Bennett, G. Collins, and Stammers. It was won from scratch by Cook, who beat Kilkenny (130 points start)—the heats were 500 up, all in—in the final, winding up with a splendid break of 428; and this appears to be a favourable opportunity for giving brief sketches of some of the players who took part in it, six or seven of whom are no longer living.
‘Master’ Stanley, as he was always designated in print for the first year or two after he began to play in public, was certainly one of the most precocious youths that ever handled a cue, and could not have been more than sixteen when he began to take his own part in good company. The spot hazard was the strongest point of his game, and I shall never forget the style in which he used to dash round the top of the table, getting ready to play the next stroke long before the red ball had reached the pocket. When it failed to drop in, even if it was a couple of inches wide of the pocket, his invariable look of blank astonishment was intensely comic.
Tom Taylor came forward about 1872, just at the time that Stanley was becoming well known, and many were the hotly contested battles between them. Never were two lads more evenly matched. Stanley was a shade the better of the pair at the spot stroke, but Taylor was a little superior all round the table. Tom, like most billiard-players, had a pet stroke. When he had opened a game with a miss in baulk, and his opponent had followed with the answering miss under one of the side cushions, he would invariably play at the red ball for the cannon off two cushions, and bring it off three times out of four. This is a stroke that is never played nowadays, and yet, when unsuccessful, it rarely leaves anything on, which is more than can be said of the cannon off the white ball, the customary game at present. A gamer player than Tom Taylor was never seen. No matter what the state of the score might be, he never ceased struggling; to be apparently hopelessly in rear only seemed to improve his play, and from time to time he would pull a game out of the fire in really marvellous fashion. With the exception of Roberts and Collins, Taylor is the only one of the sixteen players in the great handicap at the Guildhall Tavern in December 1873 who is playing regularly in 1896.
Fred, Alfred, and John were all younger brothers of Joseph Bennett. John, although he occasionally took part in handicaps, was a player of no class, and died in November 1886; but Fred and Alfred worthily upheld the family reputation as billiard-players some twenty years ago, though they seldom now play in public.[[3]] It is difficult to say which was the better of the two when they were in their prime, for both played the spot well and were good all round; but perhaps Fred was the more brilliant, and might have taken a high position if he had been fonder of the game, and devoted himself more assiduously to it.
L. Kilkenny was another remarkably sound exponent of the game as it was played twenty years ago. He, too, was good on the ‘spot,’ and when this stroke went out of fashion it practically killed his game; for Roberts and Richards, neither of whom ever liked the stroke, are the only two of the old school who are playing better now than they did in the ‘seventies. Kilkenny was about the last man that would have been taken for a professional billiard-player; indeed, clad in correct clerical costume, he would have made a model country vicar. He was always exceptionally quiet, unassuming, and well-behaved, and ought to have done well; but for some reason or another he missed his chances and died in poverty.
George Collins always played quite a game of his own. I have seen him make numerous long runs of spot strokes, but they were invariably put together in the most unorthodox style. His own ball was rarely within eighteen inches of the red, and he would incessantly leave himself the most difficult hazards, which he brought off again and again in the most marvellous fashion. In a spot break of 300 he would have to play more awkward shots than Taylor or Stanley would leave for themselves in ten breaks of the same number, and very much the same thing was noticeable in his all-round play. He would constantly succeed in ‘gallery’ shots, but never seemed to trouble himself as to where the balls would be placed after the stroke; and his apparent lack of any knowledge of playing for position was a fatally weak point in his game. It was magnificent, but it was not billiards, and in his best day Collins always played the game of an exceptionally good amateur rather than that of a professional. Of late years he has had comparatively little practice, and has naturally fallen off in consequence.
As long as he remained in England, Harry Evans was always recognised as a sound third-rate all-round player, who was practically of no use on the ‘spot,’ and it was a great surprise to all who had known him over here when, soon after he had settled down in Australia, he gained great fame as a spot stroke player, made some really remarkable breaks, and held the championship there for many years; indeed, it is only comparatively recently that he was deprived of it by Charles Memmott.
With the exception of Roberts, sen., Tom Morris was many years older than any other player who took part in the first great handicap. His game was indifferent, as was that of A. Hughes and Stammers.
Early in 1874 the first agitation against the spot stroke took place, though it was not until twelve or thirteen years later that the stroke was virtually abandoned. It occasioned a good deal of surprise when the final heat of the first spot-barred handicap lay between Taylor and Stanley, two players whose game was popularly supposed to depend almost entirely upon their proficiency in the spot stroke. Yet there was really nothing remarkable about this result, for there is a great deal of truth and good sense contained in a letter from Stanley, which was published in ‘Land and Water’ about a couple of months before the handicap was played. In it he wrote: ‘I believe, as a rule, it will be found that the best player at the spot stroke is the best player, after a time, at the all-round game. To play the spot stroke well requires great patience, a great deal of practice, and a great amount of nerve. Now, anyone who can combine all these is sure to be a good all-round player.’ Cook paid a visit to America in 1874, where he was ill advised enough to tackle Rudolph at the cannon game, with the inevitable result; still, it was impossible to regret that he had taken the trip, for he brought back with him the American system of handicaps, which at once became so popular in this country that scarcely a dozen really important handicaps on the old ‘knock-out’ principle have been played in the last twenty years. It seems hardly necessary to explain that, in an American handicap, each player has to meet every one of the others, and the winner of the largest number of games takes the first prize. The immense advantage of this system is that the element of luck is as nearly as possible eliminated, and that, presuming the play to be fair and straightforward all through, the best man on the handicap terms will win. Messrs. Burroughes & Watts took up the experiment warmly, and presented 100l. in prizes. I formed one of the committee appointed to frame the handicap and to arrange the order of play, and I well remember the difficulty we had over the latter task, which will be fully appreciated by anyone who has attempted a similar one. It must be remembered that, as this was the first affair of the kind which had taken place in England, we had no precedents to guide us, and though it may seem very simple to arrange a list of eight men, so that each shall play against a different opponent on every one of seven days, let anyone who has had no experience in the matter sit down with a pencil and paper and try it. The handicap was as follows: Cook, Roberts, and J. Bennett, scratch; Taylor, 100 points start; Stanley, 120; Timbrell, 140; Kilkenny and A. Bennett, 160. William Timbrell has not previously figured in these pages, and may be dismissed in a very few lines. He was a Liverpool player, who had already been credited with, and to the best of my belief actually did make, a break of 893, which included a sequence of 296 ‘spots.’ On his own table in Liverpool he may occasionally have done great things, which, however, he failed to repeat in London. The moment he began to play in public every atom of nerve seemed to leave him, and on the numerous occasions on which I saw him play he never showed even third-rate form. Roberts and A. Bennett tied for first prize with five games each, and in playing off the former secured a very easy victory.