Ancient Beauty: The Lewis Chessmen

Today I got to see the set of ivory chessmen that were found on the shores of Uig, Isle of Lewis, over 900 years ago.

I had visited Lewis last summer and spent a week traveling around, taking photos, and generally being amazed by the light and space and quiet.  When I got to Uig, there was a huge wooden chess piece standing on the side of the little road that led to the beach, and a notice explaining that this was a large replica made based on the little ivory chessmen that had been found there in 1831.

Apparently these chessmen date back to the 12^th century, being Scandinavian in origin, and were found washed up on the beach by a local man. 

There was something about these little chess pieces that fascinated me.  Not only their incredible age, but the distance they had travelled.  Lewis is a remote, quiet, almost too-quiet place that is still fairly sparsely populated.  And on one of its beaches – far from Scandinavia! - is where these little carved figurines appeared, washing in with the tide, lying almost hidden under the sand for this man to find.  He obviously knew that these were no children’s playthings, for almost 200 years later I am standing in the National Museum of Scotland, looking at ten small chess pieces in fascination and wonder.

The detail is incredible.  You can still see the intricately carved lines, the eyes, every line of the little sword, the hats, the hair, the robes, the horses.  My friend Whitney and I stood for a good ten minutes discussing which one we thought was which – obviously that there was the rook, and this one the knight, and that one the bishop.  We debated for a while over which were the kings and which were the queens, and my favourite was a little man with his teeth bared over his sword.  I bought a replica in the gift shop as we went out – whenever a museum that good is free, I like to make my contribution via the (nevertheless overpriced) gift shop.  It eases my conscience and brings me a little joy too!  (Or someone else, if I’m actually buying a gift.) 

I know very little about chess (I’m not a strategic-game-player: the most I go for would be Risk because despite the strategy required, it still comes down to the roll of the dice), but the game is so beautiful that I will no doubt one day own a very classic and clever chess set.  The carefully designed characters, each one different from the other and yet following a similar pattern, standing like sentries on their designated squares, obedient to a particular route and rules, waiting patiently while their masters consider and ponder and plot their way through the game.

It’s much more than a game: it’s a military directive, an organised array, a battle that has all the time in the world.  I think it’s the pace of chess that I like – the pause for thought, the hand on the chin, the furrowed brow, the calculating wheels of the mind that are barely betrayed with a slight movement of the eyebrow, the eye, the head.  Then, swiftly, a decision is reached.  The hand goes out, the piece is chosen and shifted, in an instant the entire situation is new and different and (perhaps) surprising.  And after that there is silence again.  More consideration, more thought and planning and quietness, until the strike comes again.  And the pieces – those beautiful, carved, ivory pieces – sit in silence and patience with complete trust in their owner, moving in whatever direction he deems right.

It is, indeed, a beautiful game.