With his charming personality and love of meeting new people, the German-Czech chess grandmaster Vlastimil Hort promoted the game like no other. Blessed with boundless talent, he rose to the top of the world rankings in the 1960s and took part in countless top tournaments, and during his peak even qualified for the Candidates Matches.

However, Vlastimil Hort also saw it as his special duty to showcase his talent in as many simultaneous performances around the world as possible, in order to exchange ideas with chess enthusiasts and promote the game.

He became popular in Germany thanks to a chess TV programme, and probably also in Czechoslovakia, which he left in the mid-1980s for political reasons. There is probably no chess fan in either country who did not know Vlastimil Hort, and who did not love him for his friendly manner and mischievous Bohemian humour.

On 24 May, a small circle of friends and relatives gathered in the chapel of the cemetery in Eitorf to say goodbye to Vlastimil Hort, who had suffered greatly from diabetes in the last years of his life.

Numerous obituaries by chess enthusiasts and organisations paid tribute to the great Vlastimil Hort and honoured his achievements. An unknown chess enthusiast wrote and composed an apt song about their chess idol, which undoubtedly struck a chord with many fans.

Transcript:

A Kladno boy, just five, laid low, In a hospital bed, time dragged slow, 
Doc brought a board, taught the knight’s way, Moves stuck deep, sparked a new day. 
That little kid, he grabbed the fight, Chased the squares, burned day to night.

Kladno’s kid, with a heart so true, Pushed through the dark, saw it all through, 
Chess in his hands, a life hard-won, Vlastimil’s road, still ain’t done.
Six times he ruled his home’s own game, Took on big names, earned his place, 
Soviet chill, he brought his flame, Stood his ground, set his pace. 
Spassky met him, a tough, tight scrap, Gave him a breather, bridged the gap.

Kladno’s kid, with a heart so true, Pushed through the dark, saw it all through, 
Chess in his hands, a life hard-won, Vlastimil’s road, still ain’t done.
Left a land locked tight in fear, Slipped to Germany, made it his own, 
Six hundred players, one wild cheer, Laughed as the crowd’s roar grown. 
Spun his stories, grinned ear to ear, Lit up our nights, brought us near.
Carried his fight, a quiet might, Through every loss, he held on tight, 
A gentle guy, sharp as a blade, Built a name that won’t ever fade. 
From sickbed start to a master’s run, Hort’s own light outshone the sun.

Kladno’s kid, with a heart so true, Pushed through the dark, saw it all through, 
Chess in his hands, a life hard-won, Vlastimil’s road, still ain’t done.
Eitorf held him, his rest came round, Eighty-one, laid gentle down, 
Left us his moves, his tales, his spark, A brother’s warmth, a lasting mark. 
Kladno’s kid, through all he did, Vlastimil leaves, our chessboard kid.