Like all my anecdotes, this short tale is absolutely true. I mention this only because the chances of what happened actually happening are, I know, vanishingly small. Nevertheless, it did happen exactly as told. Indeed, only recently, when reviewing the many weird incidents that have followed me through life, have I come to realize just how exceptional some of these little incidents are.

Some months after we were married, my wife received a phone call from a friend in London with whom she had shared a flat for a year. The flat-share had been in South Kensington and included an additional two and sometimes even three other girls. We were living in Wokingham, Berkshire and at the time of the phone call, a Saturday afternoon, I was busy working outside in our small garden. I remember Pat interrupting my work to ask if I played Bridge. ‘I’ve got Susan on the phone and she has just invited us to a Bridge party this evening. I think one of the couples must have pulled out at the last minute. Do you know how to play Bridge?’

I could tell Pat was very keen to accept the invitation but I had to disappoint her. ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t,’ I was forced to reply.

Clearly disappointed but not completely surprised by my denial, Pat returned to the waiting Susan. She came back about five minutes later with a smile on her face. ‘Susan said it doesn’t matter that you can’t play Bridge because it is only going to be a very informal Bridge party and they probably won’t even play Bridge, so I accepted. The party starts at 7.30pm.’

Knowing nothing about Bridge, at best I was only an occasional Whist player, I smiled patiently at Pat who, clearly, was very pleased to have been invited. I had no idea what I had let myself in for.

The journey to South Kensington from Wokingham probably took just over an hour by car. Fifty six years ago it was possible and even reasonable to expect to be able to drive and park in London. On the way, Pat suddenly turned to me and said, ‘Just in case they do decide to play Bridge, perhaps I should try to teach you the fundamentals of the game before we get there.’

I agreed that would sensible so for the next half an hour or so she explained about counting points and opening bids. She also told me about the various ‘calls’. She didn’t tell me that her only experience of Bridge was playing a three handed version of the game with her parents. As we drove into the small forecourt in front of Susan’s flat, Pat’s final words of advice were, ‘I think it would be best if you just pass for the first few hands while you familiarized yourself with the game.’

We were the last to arrive and my heart sank when I saw that far from it being an informal Bridge party, five tables had been set up. This, clearly, was a party for enthusiasts. We hardly had time for introductions so keen for the others to get down and dirty.

Susan whispered in my ear, ‘As you don’t play, I’ve partnered you with Robert. He’s the best player.’ Knowing next to nothing (I now had at least half an hour of instruction under my belt), I think I might even have thanked her for her consideration. Clearly, she wasn’t a Bridge player either because her choice of partner for me was entirely misguided. She clearly thought that my deficiencies would be more than made up for by the additional skill Robert brought to the game. On sports day, to keep things competitive, you might arrange that the weakest runner is partnered with the strongest runner. Bridge doesn’t work that way.

I was told to sit at a table of strangers opposite the brilliant Robert and that was when the next problem made its presence felt. I could see that two packs of cards had been placed immediately in front of where I was to be seated. Pat had said nothing about Bridge needing two packs of cards. I thought Bridge was played with just one pack of cards. So, not knowing what else to do, I ignored both packs of cards and started chatting about inconsequentials, hoping that someone else who knew what he was doing would pick up the cards. Fortunately, the person sitting on my left did just that. After shuffling one pack of cards he placed them next to the person on his left, which was Robert. He then shuffled the other pack and after asking me to cut them, he started dealing them.

When I picked up my very first hand of cards in a game of Bridge, I was completely dazzled by what I saw. It seemed to me that I had been dealt every honour card in the deck. I was so petrified, I was only brought out of my daze when the dealer said, ‘Pass’. Robert said, ‘Pass’, dealer’s partner said ‘Pass’, so, heaving a great sigh of relief, I said ‘Pass’. If I thought I had got away with that first hand, I was sadly mistaken.

‘I thought someone was bound to have had a good hard that time,’ said dealer, adding, ‘I only had one point.’

‘I didn’t even have a single point,’ said dealer’s partner.

‘I had two points,’ said Robert.

As one the all turned to me and said, ‘How many points did you have?’

Turning a bright red, I stuttered, ‘I don’t know. I didn’t count them.’

They all looked at me as if I was an idiot, which, of course, I was. In a game of Bridge there are 40 points in honour cards in a single deck of cards. 4 for an ace; 3 for a king; 2 for a queen and 1 for a Jack. If the others had counted correctly, and with nil one and two points between them who could doubt them, that, of course, meant, I was holding 37 points of those points and my partner was holding another two. With just 1 point out against us I wouldn’t even have had to play the damn hand. It was clearly a reveal all my cards, slam dunk, grand slam. I would have had the admiration of the other players who clearly would have seen me as a very lucky card player. Instead, they saw me for the complete idiot I was. I have to admit, the rest of the time playing with Robert was not pleasant. With someone like me opposite him, it was a waste of his time playing. So, as soon as he decently could, he swapped me for someone who knew which way was up.

The chances of being dealt such a hand are 158,753,389,899 to 1 and in the history of the game, putting cheating to one side,  I am probably the only bridge player even to have been deal such a hand. I know I will never again to dealt such a hand, and in my ignorance, I had just tossed it away. 

The evening had been a total humiliation for me and I determined never to be put in such a position again. Subsequently, both Pat and I taught ourselves to play Bridge. We will never be even half decent Bridge players, but at least we now know enough never again to disgrace ourselves.

This incident, taken together with various other incidents recalled in this section, makes me wonder if there really might be some malevolent force that controls our lives. With my lack of Bridge knowledge and experience, I was probably the very last person to have been able to benefit from such a hand. So, why me?  And why were all those major and minor travelling disaster wished upon me? 

Bernard Gallivan

February 2021