Chessville - Chess Fiction - Thompson's Return - by Ron Canter

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The Thompson Stories
By Ron Canter

Thompson's Return

Astonishing news! After disappearing for many years Thompson has reappeared out of the blue, and is up to his old tricks again.

Some time ago on retiring and moving to East Anglia I found to my surprise and pleasure that I now lived not far from my old friend and chess opponent Donald Brian Evans (DB for short.) I discovered that he was marketing over the internet his chess database programme DBExam (long ago perfected, in spite of Thompson’s best efforts.) He ran a website for this and other purposes. We arranged to meet at his local, The Greene Manne, and this was the start of many friendly chess games over a pint of Old English ale in that ancient and agreeable country pub. I found the hostelry to have a very relaxing atmosphere with its ancient fireplace and interesting displays of old farm implements and stuffed wildlife. The locals were friendly too.

I learned that the fireplace was haunted and had been known as Hawke’s Chimney for many years. Philip Hawke, a local man, was well known in Elizabethan times for his hunting prowess with his hawks and falcons, and he became the supplier of game to The Greene Manne. His wife Martha, a comely wench who also served as tavern maid, baked the kills from his expeditions into a famed rabbit and pigeon pie which was regularly served to the patrons of the inn. In one of those quaint Old English rituals it was customary on Midsummer’s Eve for The Hawke, as he became known, to enter the inn by way of its large chimney to the applause of the locals. Blackened with soot he would receive a large flagon of foaming ale from the landlord. The fire must have been left unlit on such occasions. Afterwards Martha, dressed in a white robe and bedecked with flowers, would be presented with a straw doll. The Hawke and his Lady Consort would then lead a procession round the village. According to local legend the chimney had been haunted by The Hawke ever since his demise.

In later years it became traditional on Midsummer’s Eve for the landlord to stand in front of the fireplace and call three times “Hawke, are you there?” after which a solemn toast would be drunk to the famous hunter. The ceremony continues to this day. In Hawke’s memory a glass cabinet over the mantelpiece displays a large, fierce-looking stuffed falcon. Newcomers to the pub are often required to bend and peer up the capacious chimney to see if they can see Hawke’s ghost (the fire is no longer lit.)

In these picturesque surroundings DB and I often reminisced about the old days at the chess club, especially Thompson and his amusing and sometimes irritating activities, speculating whether he would ever reappear. Although Thompson had caused DB considerable grief over a prank involving his database, DB was now able to laugh about the incident. As we played our friendly games we spent many an hour chatting about Thompson’s antics, wondering what he had been getting up to since then.

There was considerable interest in chess at The Greene Manne as DB had first aroused the curiosity of the regulars by playing games over on his pocket set while imbibing his customary lunchtime pint. Then he had shown them how to play. Tony, the pub’s amiable landlord, had even gone so far as to decorate parts of the establishment with a chequerboard pattern of tiles. Some of the tables were inlaid with chessboards, and chess sets were readily available along with the usual dominoes, draughts and skittles. Interest was further stimulated by the appointment of a slim and attractive barmaid who was not only intriguingly foreign but also played a steady game of chess. As nobody could pronounce her Polish name she was known simply as Jo, and she was often seen playing the clientele on her day off.

As was customary in those parts a friendly rivalry existed with the pub in the next village, The Ruddy Duck, which also had a few chess players. Every year a tournament was arranged between the two establishments, in which dominoes, draughts, skittles and chess were played in a spirit of friendly competition, but the first event of the evening was always an inter-pub game of grimbles, that fascinating country pastime which dated back many years. During and after the competitions there would be much quaffing of ale and consumption of the best country food, followed by the singing of country songs long into the night.

The other day I was sitting in my usual place at The Greene Manne defending the black side of a rather tricky King’s Gambit against DB as I consumed a pint of that week’s special, Blackthorne Peculiar. Somebody behind me uttered the once-familiar phrase “Mmphh, I wouldn’t have done that. Mmphh!” I looked up at DB to see a very strange look on his face, and my mind began to race. It couldn’t be, could it? Slowly I turned on my stool, and sure enough Thompson was standing behind me with a pint in his hand and a smile on his face, grey haired and somewhat thinner, but with the same dark brown eyes and piercing stare.

It turned out that Thompson had seen DB’s website, which amongst other things gave quite a bit of information about The Greene Manne. He decided to visit in the hope of meeting up with some of his old chess colleagues. We never found out how he got there, but I’m pretty sure he didn’t drive as his one attempt at the driving test had left the examiner a quivering wreck. After getting over the surprise we greeted him cordially, told him about The Hawke and invited him to look up the chimney. He was a bit wary of the falcon in the glass case, no doubt because of his strange experience with a stuffed turtle in the past, but duly peered up the ancient shaft at the top of which daylight could be seen. As he failed to spot Hawke’s ghost we informed him of his consequent obligation to buy a round and then we sat down with our drinks to talk over old times. Before long Jo came on duty and we mentioned to Thompson that as well as being Polish she was a chess player. Both of these facts interested him greatly. “Ah” he said “I speak a bit of Polish, I’ll give her a game.” Not without some misgivings, this was arranged. Thompson was introduced to Jo, who seemed to take a liking to him, and, landlord Tony having given his permission, they sat down to play.

My match with DB was adjourned as we felt that we should keep an eye on Thompson, and we followed Thompson and Jo’s game from our table beside the fireplace. Tony watched from behind the bar, although he knew little about chess, and the various regulars also viewed the game with interest. Thompson opened with his favourite Polish opening, no doubt in tribute to his opponent’s origins, and Jo defended steadily. Soon Thompson checked with his King’s Bishop and triumphantly and loudly declaimed what sounded like a phrase in Polish. The effect on Jo was astounding. She sat bolt upright, glared at Thompson then suddenly leaned over the board and delivered a tremendous slap to the side of his head which toppled him from his stool and on to the floor. We all froze in amazement. Then before anyone could react Thompson leapt up and extended his arm in what I think was meant to be a gesture of conciliation.

Betty, a deceptively frail-looking lady of about seventy who was sitting next to them, interpreted Thompson’s movement as one of aggression and immediately tripped him up with the crook of her walking stick. Thompson crashed to the floor again. By now the regulars were up in arms, eager to defend their favourite barmaid. Derek, who was confined to an electric wheelchair but drove it with considerable skill, set his motor going and, assisted by kicks from people nearby, unceremoniously shunted Thompson across the floor and into the fireplace. He finished up in a heap beside me with his head in the grate. Shaking his head, he looked up at me and said, “Don’t know what’s up with her, I only said I was checking her King.” Before I could discuss his obviously imperfect knowledge of the Polish language with him, Spook the pub cat, sensing the general atmosphere of hostility to Thompson, pounced upon him and sank her teeth and claws into his calf causing him to yell with pain. In the meantime the other regulars began to advance menacingly, intent on avenging whatever insult had been delivered to Jo.

Still tangled up in the fireplace, Thompson suddenly stiffened, went white, and shouted “My God, it’s him!!! I can see The Hawke up the chimney!!!” Just then the glass case above the mantelpiece shattered and the stuffed falcon appeared to glide at Thompson, finishing up on his chest with its sharp raptor’s beak against his nose, its yellow eyes staring unblinkingly into his. I quickly pried Spook off his leg, removed the falcon, got him to his feet and hustled him through the door into the car park. Breathing heavily, Thompson said “I saw him - a bloke with a beard - looking down the chimney - it must have been The Hawke.” And then the blighter had the almighty cheek to say that he thought the cost of his round should be refunded as he had spotted the ghost! Struggling to contain myself I advised him to get away before the regulars got outside, gave him a shove, and he staggered off down the road.

When I went back inside Tony was offering everyone a drink on the house to cool the proceedings and this unprecedented and unusual offer had the desired effect. Spook was stroked and petted by everyone in recognition of her gallantry and received a double portion of her favourite tuna for supper that night. There was much lively discussion of the day’s events and Jo was pressed to tell us why she had slapped Thompson. She refused to impart exactly what he had said to her but indicated that he had suggested doing something to her with his Bishop which no gentleman would ever do to a lady.

For several days afterwards the pub’s takings were considerably increased as word got around the village. Those who had not been fortunate enough to witness the evening’s excitement flocked to the bar to hear eye witness accounts of that eventful day. The falcon has been reinstalled in a new glass cabinet over the mantelpiece and Thompson is now permanently banned from The Greene Manne.

Index of The Thompson Stories

The Thompson Stories are
dedicated to the memory of

David B Sugden
1944 - 2005

friend and chess opponent, without whom Thompson might not have been perpetuated.

Sadly, David Sugden died on 16 September 2005. David had been in hospital since mid-June having suffered a serious stroke from which he did not recover. David will be remembered as an enthusiastic supporter of the British Correspondence Chess Association and its webmaster. He was also the author of the DBS Chess Recorder program.