All the newest improvements were naturally to be found in Kentfield’s Subscription Rooms at Brighton, the appointments of which were wonderfully perfect, considering the date. In 1839 he published ‘The Game of Billiards: Scientifically Explained and Practically Set Forth, in a Series of Novel and Extraordinary, but Equally Practical, Strokes.’ In his well-written and modest preface, Kentfield alludes to the ‘many alterations and improvements that have been successfully introduced, and which have so greatly contributed to the state of perfection to which this noble amusement has at length arrived.’ Compared with the tables that were in vogue before Messrs. Kentfield and Thurston began their improvements, their joint production did doubtless seem wonderfully perfect; yet this extract reads curiously in 1896, in the face of the extraordinary developments of everything connected with the game that have taken place within the last ten or fifteen years.
Kentfield was acquainted with the spot stroke, and played it well, considering the then existing conditions. He devotes a very short chapter in his book to it, and describes four different methods by which it can be made. There are now nine entirely different strokes which may be brought into use in the course of a long spot break; but doubtless, in his day, several of the varieties of the stroke were absolutely impossible, owing to the comparative slowness of the tables. He did not, however, approve of the spot stroke, nor consider it billiards, and on this point was evidently of the same mind as the younger Roberts, who has recorded his opinion that a constant succession of big spot breaks ‘would very soon kill the popularity and destroy the artistic position billiards has attained.’ The thoroughly genuine nature of Kentfield’s feelings on the subject may be judged from the fact that he caused the pockets of the tables in his rooms at Brighton to be reduced to three inches, in order to prevent spot strokes being made; and this, unless he materially increased the charge for each game, must have meant a considerable annual pecuniary loss to him. The table on which Kentfield constantly played is thus described: ‘The table in the Subscription Room is extremely difficult. It is, perhaps, the fastest in England, and has pockets of the smallest dimensions (three inches). The spot for the red ball is barely twelve inches from the lower cushion; the baulk circle only eighteen inches in extent. On many tables the spot is thirteen inches from the cushion; the baulk twenty-two.’ It seems singular that, quite thirty years before the first championship table was manufactured, Kentfield should have put up almost a fac-simile of it in his Brighton rooms; but probably John Roberts, senior, saw it there, possibly played upon it, and derived from it the idea of the table on which, in 1870, the championship was decided.
It is almost impossible, after this lapse of time, to form any trustworthy opinion as to the real strength of Kentfield’s game, and it would be manifestly unfair to draw comparisons between him and any player of more recent date than the elder John Roberts. Let us first take the evidence of Mr. Mardon on the subject; and I may here remark that Mr. Mardon’s book—which was a very great improvement on any of its predecessors dealing with billiards—appears to have been primarily written with the view of giving immortality to the author’s great game of 500 up with a Mr. Porker. This was played in Kentfield’s rooms. Mr. Porker, who conceded a start of 25 points, reached 495 to 475, and then Mr. Mardon ran out. A break of 25, even at the end of a game, does not seem such a very startling feat; still, it was evidently considered as such in those days, and a diagram is given of each of the nine strokes which were comprised in this historical effort. One or two of these were somewhat singularly played according to modern ideas. In one of them, for example, the red ball was near the left top pocket, into which it was very easy to screw, and his opponent’s ball was nicely placed about the middle of the table. Instead of making the losing hazard with a slow screw, which would have just brought the red ball down to the white, and left a capital chance of a good break, Mr. Mardon had a regular bang at it, doubled the red ball right down the table and up again, and, probably more by luck than judgment, finally left it almost in the jaws of the right-hand top pocket. This, however, is ‘another story,’ and I am keeping Mr. Mardon waiting an unconscionably long time in the witness-box to give his testimony as to Kentfield’s abilities as a player. He writes:
Were I to relate all the extraordinary performances of Mr. Kentfield at the period when list cushions and pockets of large dimensions were in vogue, the reader would imagine I was bordering on romance. On one occasion, when playing the winning game, 21 up, Mr. Kentfield gave his opponent 18 points, and won sixteen successive games. In playing the winning and losing game, 24 up, he won ten games, his adversary never scoring! The games were thus played: Mr. Kentfield, in playing off, doubled the red ball for one of the baulk corner pockets, placing his own ball under the side cushion. His opponent played to drop it into the corner pocket, failed, and left on each occasion a cannon; that was made, and the games were all won off the balls! At another time he was playing the non-cushion game, 16 up. On going off he twisted his ball into the corner pocket from the red and won in that manner six games, his adversary not having a stroke! Desirous of ascertaining how many games of 24 up could be played within the hour, he commenced the task with a player of considerable eminence;[[1]] and they completed thirty games within the specified time. Forty-seven games of 100 up were also played in eight and a half hours. In a match that did not exceed two hundred games, he beat his opponent eighty-five love games.
Even allowing that the ‘player of considerable eminence’ was out of form, and that Kentfield had the table virtually to himself, 720 points in an hour was amazing;[[2]] and even the longer test, which works out at the rate of about 550 points per hour, does not compare at all badly with the rate at which our best players score at the present day; so it seems curious that a performer of such ability should have continued for years playing games of 21 and 24 up, in which, as was almost sure to be the case, his opponent frequently never had a stroke. When John Roberts, senior, was fast coming into note as a great player, and people were beginning to compare his powers with those of Kentfield, Mr. Mardon thus expressed his opinion on the subject:
I have been given to understand, within the last few months, that Mr. Roberts, superintendent of the billiard-rooms at the Union Club in Manchester, is considered by his friends of that neighbourhood to be equal to any player in England; and, in order to afford me an opportunity of judging of his skill, balls have been placed in situations of considerable difficulty, and I have been assured that hazards thus presented came quite within his power of cue. I have also been informed that, in playing a game of 100 up, his opponent, aware of, and dreading, his ability, ran a coup at 96 love, hoping, by so prudent and cautious a proceeding, to ensure winning the game. Mr. Roberts, playing from the baulk circle, twisted into one of the corner pockets from the ball upon the spot, and made from a break so unpromising 102 points from the red ball alone! Admitting, however, this information to be correct, still, wonderful and surprising execution does not constitute either a sterling or a successful player; and when I take into consideration the advantages to be derived from playing the game called ‘One pocket to five,’ and learn that Mr. Kentfield has played upwards of fifty thousand games with one gentleman alone, I cannot but imagine that an experience so great, united with his matchless skill, must not only elevate him above all other players, but fully entitle him to the paramount laudatory remarks with which his name will be found to be associated. When I call to mind, and reflect upon, the wonderful execution displayed while playing the commanding game over the table, and the game of one pocket to one pocket commanded, I have no hesitation in saying that on such occasions his power of cue has gone beyond what even the imagination could embrace. I have seen him, like a man inspired, accomplish stroke after stroke, hazards and cannons, against which I, with my knowledge of the game, would have laid fifty to one! From his cue I have witnessed that which I am confident I shall never see again; and, although luminaries may shine forth in other spheres, Mr. Kentfield, the electric light of mine, must, I think, dim their lustre and keep them in the shade.
The only other witness I shall call is John Roberts, sen., who has left on record his opinion that Kentfield ‘played a very artistic game, but possessed very little power of cue. He depended on slow twists and fancy screws, and rarely attempted a brilliant forcing hazard. He gave misses, and made baulks whenever they were practicable, and never departed from the strict game.’ This was not written until many years after all rivalry between the two men had ceased, and may, therefore, probably be accepted as a calm and unprejudiced opinion. At first sight it is difficult to reconcile the entirely opposite views of Mr. Mardon and Roberts with regard to Kentfield’s power of cue. The truth probably lies between the two extremes, for the former’s judgment may have been slightly warped by intense admiration for his idol, whereas Roberts was possibly comparing Kentfield’s power of cue with his own, which was almost phenomenal. The highest break that Kentfield ever made was one of 196, and his best spot break 57 consecutive hazards. It may be taken for granted that neither of these breaks was made on his three-inch pocket table; nevertheless, they may still be regarded as very excellent performances. If, however, there are diverse views as to Kentfield’s powers as a player, I have only been able to discover one opinion as to his merits as a man. Whether or not we may feel inclined to accept the dictum that genius is ‘an infinite capacity for taking pains,’ I think there is little doubt that Edwin Kentfield was a genius at billiards, whilst in other respects it is quite certain that he set a brilliant example to the players who followed him.
During the last few years of Kentfield’s long and peaceful career, the fame of John Roberts was rapidly growing, especially in and near Manchester, and it became evident that at last, for the first time for four and twenty years, the champion would be called upon to defend his title. Roberts was born about 1815, and, as is bound to be the case with a really great player, had a cue in his hand long before he was tall enough to reach the table properly. Indeed, he was only nine years old when he began to play upon an old-fashioned table by Gillow, with a wooden bed and list cushions. This was at the old Rotunda, Bold Street, Liverpool, and he showed such remarkable aptitude for the game that in six months he could give points to most ordinary players. His precocious ability appears to have been unknown to his father, until one day the two played three or four games together, and the youngster won by many points. Instead of being delighted with this display of juvenile talent, the old man, who was possibly a bad loser, concluded that his son must have been devoting far too much time to the game, and, lacking the shrewdness to perceive the possibilities that lay before so skilful a lad, apprenticed him to a carpenter. The boy stuck to this trade for a couple of years; but his passion for billiards remained as strong as ever, and at the end of that time he ran away, thenceforth devoting himself entirely to what was unquestionably his proper vocation. His first engagement was as marker at Oldham, and it is evident that he must have improved very rapidly while there, for he could not have been more than fourteen years old when he played home and home matches with ‘Pendleton Tom,’ a professional player with considerable local reputation, and beat him in both. When he left Oldham he obtained a situation in Glasgow, and in 1844 played a match against John Fleming, a well-known billiard-table maker of that day, for 100l. a-side; and here he met with his first reverse of any importance. They were playing 500 up, and when the game was called ‘485 all,’ Fleming tried for a cannon and missed it, but fluked a six stroke and went out. Roberts then defeated Tom Broughton of Leeds, and this appears to have been his last match of any note during his sojourn in Glasgow. This ended in 1845, when he became manager of the billiard-rooms of the Union Club at Manchester, a position which he retained for seven years. This was very fortunate for him, as he no doubt had far more opportunities for practice than he had ever previously enjoyed, and it was while there that he learnt the spot stroke. The popular idea that he invented the stroke is, of course, an entire fallacy, for Kentfield, Carr, Pratt, and others were in the habit of playing it. It was taught to Roberts by Mr. Lee Birch, a member of the Union Club, who had seen it played in London, and, being one of the best amateur players of the day, soon mastered it to the extent of being generally able to make a dozen or fifteen consecutive hazards. It is curious, by the way, how many amateur players attain this standard of excellence and never get any farther. If a man can habitually make this number of spot strokes, nothing but steady practice is required to enable him to make runs of fifty, seventy, a hundred, or even more; yet not one in a thousand has the resolution or perseverance to take this necessary practice. With Roberts it was entirely different. He at once realised that the stroke must give an enormous advantage to any man who could play it with something like certainty. For six months, therefore, he devoted himself almost entirely to it, and spent hundreds of hours at the top of the table.
When a man who united a natural genius for the game with indomitable perseverance thus set himself to master a particular stroke, there could be only one result, and I should fancy it was then—strong in the confidence engendered by his ability to play this deadly stroke—that he first conceived the idea of bearding Kentfield in his den, and challenging his long-undisputed supremacy. Mr. Mardon’s account of the first meeting of the rivals is as follows: ‘Arriving in Brighton, Roberts called on Kentfield. He informed him at once, in a manly, straightforward manner, who he was, and expressed a desire of playing a friendly game. He neither sought disguise nor secrecy, and would willingly have shown the strength of his game to all who might have approached. Kentfield, on the other hand, was very desirous of avoiding publicity, and, taking Roberts into an adjoining room, locked the door and began a game.’ Then follow a few more lines in Mr. Mardon’s usual rather high-flown style, the meaning of which, translated into the vulgar tongue, is that Roberts speedily discovered that his opponent was not really doing his best. This did not at all suit the man who had come from Manchester on a voyage of discovery, and Mr. Mardon tells us that he thus expressed his opinion on the subject: ‘This, Mr. Kentfield, cannot be your game; to play such as this I can give forty in a hundred. If you are withholding your powers for the purpose of obtaining a bet, I am willing to recommence the game and to play you for five pounds.’ Those who knew the elder Roberts intimately may possibly accept this as the general purport of his remarks, but will entirely decline to believe that he did not express himself in far more vigorous and forcible language. As, however, Mr. Mardon states that the door of the room was locked, and that no one was present excepting the two principals, he could only have written his account of the scene from hearsay, and it differs considerably from Roberts’s own version of the interview. This, given in ‘Roberts on Billiards,’ runs as follows:
I remember perfectly my first meeting with Kentfield, better known as ‘Jonathan.’ It was in the beginning of 1849, at Brighton, where I went on purpose to see him play. On entering his rooms I met John Pook, the present proprietor of the Cocoa-tree Club, who was at that time his manager. After sending up my name, Kentfield came in and inquired my business. I told him that I was admitted to be the best player in Lancashire, whence I had come to find out if he could show me anything. He inquired if I wanted a lesson. I told him I did not, and asked him how many in 100 would be a fair allowance from a player on his own table to a stranger, provided they were of equal skill. He replied ‘15;’ I told him I thought 20 would be nearer the mark, but I was contented to try at evens. He said: ‘If you play me, it must be for some money;’ on which, not to be frightened, I pulled out a 100l. note, and told him I would play him ten games of 100 up for 10l. a game. He laughed, and said I was rather hasty; and eventually we knocked the balls about, and then commenced a friendly 100 on level terms. He had the best of the breaks, and won by 40. In the second game I pulled out a few north-country shots and won by 30, but he secured the third. Then he put down his cue, and asked if I was satisfied he could beat me. I said: ‘No; on the contrary, if you can’t play better than this, I can give you 20 in 100 easily.’ He replied: ‘Well, if you want to play me, you must put down a good stake.’ I asked how much, and he answered 1,000l. I said: ‘Do you mean 1,000l. a-side?’ Upon which he told me he thought I was a straightforward fellow, and he would see what could be done. He then sent Pook back to me, and I explained to him how things stood. He replied: ‘You may as well go back to Lancashire; you won’t get a match on with the governor.’