Story by Sue Gordon (BBO: SU57 GOR)

Four of us decided, quite randomly, to learn bridge during our first year at Lancaster University. Although we hadn't much clue what we were doing, we quickly took to spending hours playing in the common room, often missing lectures and seminars. One afternoon, we were in the middle of bidding a hand when my partner suddenly realized he was missing an exam and rushed off, leaving us one short.

As we sat wondering what to do, a slightly odd-looking, scruffy lad approached the table. He was one of the older students, affectionately known by everyone as "Mad Jack."
"Are you playing bridge?" he asked. "Can I join you?"
We looked at one another skeptically, but since there was no one else around, we very reluctantly let him play. Little did we know, he was Jack Silverstone, a junior Scottish international. It just goes to show—you really shouldn't judge a book by its cover.

Over the next few years, Jack became our mentor, patiently teaching us the skills and understanding of bridge that we would never have picked up from lessons or books. He also became a dear friend and is sadly missed to this day.

A few years later, bridge continued to weave its way into my life in unexpected and often hilarious ways. It was the final week of a teaching exchange in Normandy, and my younger brother David had come over from England to spend the last few days with me.

He was interested to hear that I had continued playing bridge while in France, and I was interested to find that he had recently taken up bridge with some friends at work. With no plans for the following evening, we decided, for a laugh, to go for a game at the local bridge club.

I spent the afternoon teaching him the French translations of the suit names and the word "double," and we set off excitedly for our evening's bridge.

Everything was going well until on one hand Dave opened the bidding "un carreau" (one diamond) and I responded "trois carreaux" (three diamonds). The next hand passed, and there was a long, long pause, during which my brother sat staring fixedly at his cards, concentrating furiously and going red in the face. It was getting to the point of embarrassment when, finally, the bid "quinze carreaux" (fifteen diamonds) burst from his lips.

The player on my right turned to me and asked in French, "What do you take from your partner's bid?"

I replied. "I take it that he has forgotten the French word for number five."

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