Why I became a billiard player? A superfluous question to address to the son of a one-time champion billiard player of England, most people will say. "Young Cook became a billiard player because his father was a great player," would probably be the answer of nine out of every ten people if a plebiscite was to be taken of the question.
But the answer would be grossly inaccurate, for, strange as it may sound, my father was strenuously opposed to my adopting billiards as a profession. Probably that was one reason why I became a billiard player, for, boy-like, I had a penchant for thwarting the wishes and desires of my guardians. But to begin at the beginning.
I first saw the light on the very day my father defeated Joseph Bennett for the championship-November 21st, 1871. If there is anything in omens, the incident of my birth surely predestined that I was to perpetuate the family name in the world of billiards. More especially so, as that particular championship game was wholly a family affair, Joe Bennett being my uncle-a fact not generally known to billiardists of the present day. Reared and nurtured in an atmosphere of billiards, there was nothing strange in my boyish delight in watching big games whenever and wherever I could. I can recall the fact that nothing on earth (youngster as I was) afforded me greater pleasure than to watch my father and John Roberts engaging in one of their titanic struggles on a billiard table. Then was the period when the billiards fever really caught me. Even now I smile as I think of those days when, seeing a particular shot which caught my fancy, I rushed home pell mell to try it on our own table, so that I might not forget it. Of course, I could not play at all, but that was of no consideration to me, and it certainly did not interfere with the pleasure. I should like to remark here, that the elementary practice I speak of had to be done by stealth, for my father did not like me to handle a cue at all. Moreover, neither then nor during any subsequent period did he teach me anything of the game-not even a single stroke.
Hoping against hope that my father would relent from his anti- billiards attitude, I studied hard at school, but my hopes sank to zero when, school days over, I was packed off to the mercantile business in the City. Ledgers, pens and ink were my daily companions for five years, until, in June, 1893, the death of my father altered my whole perspective of life. It is needless for me to dwell on that sad period of my life, but suffice it to say, the City office knew me no more. My early fancy for the restful green, the subdued lights, and the shimmering spheres of the billiard table returned to me with redoubled force in my youthful exuberance to perpetuate the name of Cook.
In 1895, I secured my first professional engagement with Ashcrofts, the Liverpool table makers, whose public room I managed for two and a half years, during the whole time, also acting as tutor to the firm's clientele. From there I went to Messrs. Orme's, of Manchester, with whom I remained in the same capacity for three years. By this time I had improved greatly in the knowledge and the technique of the game and this made me ambitious to get on. London, then as now, was the hub of the billiards world, and to London my eves turned. Fortune favoured me, for when Messrs. Thurston opened their new premises in Leicester Square, nine years ago, I was exclusively engaged as their professional coach and tutor. And in this capacity I still remain at Leicester Square, varying my tutorial duties by playing public and private matches in town and country.
Primarily, my time is, however, chiefly devoted to the teaching of the game rather than the playing of matches, thus making a speciality of a phase of billiards little practised by my father. Naturally, I have my own ideas on this particular branch, and, as these may have some interest for a vast majority of billiard lovers, I may be pardoned for making a slight reference to them here.
I begin by demonstrating how the cue should be held, and how it should be moved - the latter of equal importance to the former but not always appreciated by the ordinary "hundred-upper." Next I demonstrate and explain the strokes which occur most frequently in the building up of breaks - how they are made and how they are missed. Ninety per cent of ordinary players, strange to say, miss the same kind of stroke and in precisely the same way, and I would impress upon my readers that more may be learned by finding out just how a simple stroke is often missed, than by attempting and practising one of a comparatively difficult character. That is one of the points which escape ninety-nine per cent of amateurs.
I hope I shall not be accused of egotism when I remark that great success has attended my efforts to make bad players good players and good players better players, through the medium of what one might term the pointing out of unconsidered trifles. I am proud of my profession and proud of the patronage extended to me, more perhaps on account of my being the off-spring of a great player, than of any inherent qualities of my own. Among those I have had the honour of teaching are: Lady Bingham, Lady Jephson, the Hon. C. Vereker, Lord Hotham, Lord Bingham, Lord R. Innes-Kerr, Lord Addington, Lord Leitrim, Lord Boleskine, Hon. Walter Rothschild, Hon. Charles Rothschild, Sir Thomas Bucknill, Sir Thomas Lipton, and others.
Going back to my early days, I should like to relate a little incident with reference to the first semi-public game I ever played. When I was between twelve and thirteen years of age, my father discovered that I could knock the balls about. If he was angry, and presumably he must have been, he did not show it then, but he soon took a speedy revenge by suggesting that I should play a friend 100 up, with John Roberts, senior, and himself as the chief spectators.
The affair was easily arranged, and, as the result, I was severely trounced. When all was over, my father, addressing Roberts, remarked. "What do you think of the boy, John?" "Humph- no good at all, no good at all," was the old champion's trenchant criticism. "There you are, my boy, better stick to your school lessons, and keep out of the billiard room," was my father's parting shot to me, and which was meant to dry up all my billiard aspirations. But here I am.
Another story of my father, and which has the merit of being new. My grandmother, in years gone by, kept the Swallow Hotel, close by Shaftesbury Avenue. A feature of the house was the old-fashioned free and easy evenings, when, with cigar and song, a few happy hours were spent.
The sing-song fashion dying out, the room was converted into a billiard room. Of course the usual fussy individual - in this case a commercial traveller in the trade - was soon in evidence with this and that suggestion, including a grand opening of the billiard room with a match between two "big" players. Our fussy friend volunteered his good offices in the securing of the players. Said the proprietress, "Thanks, very much Mr., but I have already engaged my two sons-in-law to play." "Who are they?" queried the commercial gentleman, aghast.
"Oh, only the champion and ex-champion, Will Cook and Joe Bennett."
The commercial fled!