The Irish Times & Powers Whiskey recently ran a short story competition. This is one of my two entries. Neither won but I like them. The subject was to write 450 words on ‘What Really Matters.’
Waiting for the others, Davin and O’Ryan leisurely potted a few billiard balls across the plush baize. It was unexpectedly cold for the first day of November. But clear blue skies gave an unexpected brightness and air of hope to the day.
Next arriving was John Wyse Power, a pessimist by nature, his opening gambit reflected his propensity for the half-empty glass. “Is this all that’s here?” he declared under furrowed brow, and made as if to leave.
Davin laid down his cue, diverting the new arrival’s attention to a platter of Mrs Hayes best ham sandwiches and a generous glass of Power’s finest namesake.
Bracken and the Ulsterman McKay entered in jovial mood, discussing an on-pitch disagreement the previous evening. The scrap concerned more the honour of a desirable young lady from Templemore than the vagaries of the rulebook. Inspector McCarthy expressed relief the constabulary had not been required on this occasion.
The room quietened when Cusack appeared. Hawthorn stick in hand, leather booted, suited in fustian, voluminous beard obscured his collar and tie.
The Clareman was a persuasive character, a bon vivant, and infectiously enthusiastic about the plans they were about to discuss. Seriously dogmatic, he had made several specific requests to Mrs Hayes the hotel proprietor.
Firstly, that the room be discreet but comfortable. Secondly that she provide a generous repast for attendees, some of whom like Power and Davin had travelled some distance. He asked for a generous supply of pipe tobacco. Finally, he insisted on a particular brand of whiskey to ‘lubricate’ their discussions.
“We want our fellow gaels to tell us what is really important,” he advised Davin. “In my experience” he said, toking on his pipe, “that is best achieved in the presence of the golden liquid of which we are both so fond.”
As the participants began deliberations, chaired by Davin, Mrs Hayes busied herself about the room, dispensing platters heaped with bread and ham. She generously refilled each exquisite cut crystal glass from a gold-labelled bottle. Through the warmth and the unmistakable fugue of pipe and peat smoke, discussion continued apace with much agreement.
Several hours later, Cusack settled back in his seat. The others had retired for a nap before dinner. All had gone to plan. The creation of an association Gaelic and Athletic that would sweep the land like none other before.
He snapped the cap, glancing at the familiar bottle, and allowed himself a further glass. Relaxed, he sipped and smiled. Powers’ Gold Label.
As he expected, twas easier to find out what really mattered, when his friend John Power was in attendance.
Truly, one of the founding fathers and Powers of the Association.