Ximenes On The Art Of The Crossword
The previous chapter brought to an end my views on crossword puzzles — strong views in some cases, with which I can’t expect all solvers, let alone all composers, to agree. I am well aware that I am arbitrary — perhaps even fanatical, which is worse — about some details; and no doubt there will be many who think that crosswords are a transient form of amusement, not justifying the expenditure of so much powder and shot. I can but plead that to me crosswords are an art, in much the same way as I know chess problems to be an art to the chess problemist. I tried some years ago to penetrate into the chess problemist’s world, only to find that I hadn’t got the right sort of mental equipment: the solution (rather slow) of two-move problems was as far as I could get: my attempts at composition, though for a time painstaking, never passed the puerile stage. But I did get far enough, helped a good deal by the late Brian Harley of the Observer, to understand the standards and the outlook of chess problemists, and to see how much small things, such as economy of the force used, mattered to them. I think that, indirectly, my short-lived venture into a field too difficult for me had some influence on my attitude to crosswords, so that I have come to find that a badly worded or inadequate clue really hurts: my own early efforts, when I look at them again nowadays, do just that, quite as much as any clues written by others have ever done.
The process which has brought me to this state has, of course, been a very gradual one, with my first acquaintance with Afrit as the outstanding landmark. I first met crosswords before they appeared in Britain. An uncle in Montreal sent me, when I was at Cambridge, a book of American puzzles, and the interlocking words at once fascinated me. It wasn’t long before I began trying to fit them together myself: soon after crosswords arrived over here I won my first prize for composing a crossword in a local Leicester paper. The clues were all still definitions: it was not, I think, till Torquemada burst upon the crossword world that it occurred to me that they could be anything else.
I remember well thinking at first, after putting aside a puzzle of his with only three or four words filled in, that this man was quite beyond me. But he fascinated me, and I persevered, till after two or three years I became a regular solver and finished the puzzle more often than not.
Imitation rather than originality has always, I think, been my line: long before I even dreamt of succeeding him, I used to make up what I flattered myself were Torquemada-ish puzzles for my friends to try. I solved other puzzles too; but Torquemada was my hero — I seldom took the others seriously enough to mind if I couldn’t finish, whereas I really did try hard every week to finish Torquemada. I hardly ever remember feeling, when I had failed, that he had been unfair: | may have said at times “Well, that really was a bit steep”, but no more, And this in spite of the fact that his standard of difficulty varied far more than is usual nowadays: sometimes hundreds and hundreds solved him, but on at least two occasions, I believe, only one lady did so. Through all those years his puzzle was a weekly treat to look forward to, and his untimely death in 1939 was a real shock to many thousands.
Having already tried my hand at imitating Torquemada (however feebly), I made up after his death a puzzle containing, unclued, the words of a quatrain paying tribute to his skill. (This type of puzzle, with unclued words forming a quatrain, was one he had often used.) I sent it up to the Observer and they published it. This emboldened me to ask if a successor was to be appointed and to apply for the job. Eventually three of us were appointed, contributing, in turns, what was now called “Torquemada Crossword” instead of “Crossword by Torquemada”, Soon afterwards came the war and, after a year or so, reductions in the sizes of papers; so there had to be one crossword in the Observer instead of two. One week the crossword was of the Torquemada type, next week of the Everyman type. This lasted till after the end of the war when, in the summer of 1946, Everyman, with its wider appeal, became weekly, the harder puzzle having to remain fortnightly till paper had at last become plentiful enough for its weekly appearance near the end of 1952.
It was in 1945 that I was given complete responsibility for both Observer crosswords. For the harder puzzle I had already, in 1943, adopted the pseudonym “Ximenes”, the name of the Cardinal who succeeded the original Torquemada as head of the Spanish Inquisition. Now a new series started, both for Ximenes and for Everyman, each being numbered afresh from No. 1. The style of the Everyman puzzle changed very gradually towards its present style; for Ximenes I introduced at once some definite changes. I was under Afrit’s influence by now, and I had become convinced that he was right to include, even in difficult puzzles with the barred type of diagram, far more unchecked letters than had been used in the “Torquemada Style’ crosswords: this title, by the way, was dropped when the new series started. I also, from this point onwards, made my diagrams symmetrical: hitherto I had followed Torquemada in disregarding symmetry. The biggest innovation in 1945 was the competition with prizes offered for the best clues sent in for a specified word, given in the paper a definition only instead of a cryptic clue. This competition, at first fortnightly, later to become monthly, has lasted ever since and has lost nothing in popularity: if anything the number of entries tends to be higher nowadays than it was at first, and their quality has advanced enormously.
The result of this innovation which I value most is the number of friends it has made for me. Very early on competitors began to write little notes with their entries, and correspondence with the regular ones gradually started. After about a dozen competitions someone suggested that a slip should be sent round to those who applied for it, containing in full the clues of all prizewinners and of those highly commended (there was only room for the first prizewinner’s clue in the paper). This idea at once became popular.
I soon took to adding comments on each competition (very brief at first, longer later). In these I began to circularize among competitors my growing views on the principles of cluemanship.
Nowadays something like three-quarters of the competitors send for slips. In a recent competition there were over 700 entries: the record entry was just under 900: it has rarely fallen below 200.
All the time I have been getting to know many of my solvers better and better, some only postally, others in the flesh, largely as a result of the opportunities of meeting them provided by the Ximenes Dinners, which have been a great delight both to my wife and to myself. The first celebrated No. 100: others have accompanied No. 200, No. 500 and No, 750, Another bright idea, which shows that a bond exists among Ximeneans, is the Ximenes tie for men and scarf for ladies, which were started over two years ago and have sold well.
It may be worth while to mention here the number of different people who have won prizes and commendations in the competitions. Naturally we have our experts, whose names crop up quite often in the lists; but we are by no means a closed shop.
As I write, over 400 different people have won prizes, and over 1,400 have been at one time or another highly commended.
How many people solve Ximenes? I have always wished there were some means of finding out, for the competition entries are certainly no guide. I have myself met or heard of hundreds of solvers who don’t fancy their cluemanship (or their luck in the weeks when there is a draw for prizes) enough to enter, and I feel safe in guessing that there are a good many thousands who solve, regularly or irregularly.
This chapter has, perhaps, had too much Ximenes in it and not enough Everyman: that I can’t help, for this type of puzzle has always been my first love. Nevertheless, I kept the Everyman series going from 1945 till the autumn of 1963, when I handed over that section to two successors, Miss D. W. Taylor and my collaborator in this book, Mr A. Robins, who are as scrupulous as I ever was about cluemanship, if not more so, Good luck to them both, and to all solvers of both Observer crosswords, and to all composers and solvers of all the other crosswords too.