Smashed trophies and crypto-rubles – National Liberal Club Chess Circle

The Liberal Club’s annual Lightning tournament has overcome many obstacles in its time. Elderly members remember the battling against the Beast from the East to get to 1 Whitehall Place for some Lightning chess. Still others remember even greater challenges – such as trying to drink most of a bottle of club red whilst also playing chess.

But the 2026 edition of this now fabled Clubland competition must go down as the most eventful and challenging yet.

Looking back, it should have been clear from the start this was not going to be a straightforward evening. Arriving close to last (of which more, later…) in the group of players, just before the buzzer was due to start, was the relentless winner of the Kennedy Cup, Mister Farleigh. As winner of the previous year’s trophy he of course had kept it for the year, displayed in pride of place on his mantle piece, no doubt. Approaching a member of the Organising Committee with a somewhat sheepish look about him, he opened with the conversational gambit of “Now there’s a funny story when it comes to Kennedy Cup… You’ll never believe what happened.”

Looks were exchanged. Breaths drawn. It was the cat’s fault, we were told. A double helping of Whiskas in the Farleigh household had the hungry mouser charging for his dinner with not a care for the prized Kennedy Cup. The trophy was knocked, fell, and was no more. Or, more precisely, it was instantly transformed into two Kennedy Cups, neither of which quite had the aesthetic appeal nor the general sense of unanimity as compared to the original of a few moments before.

Now Mister Farleigh is a resourceful man. To begin one’s life in the colonies and to end up on Pall Mall surely shows that. “Fear not”, said the RAC member, whereupon he pulled out an exact replica of the original trophy, smithed by the very same Tooting Broadway Trophy Emporium of the original. Magnificent. Readers are encouraged to hear Mister Farleigh’s account of this adventure in the moving picture footage at the end of this report.

Having taken an triple brandy to calm the nerves after – even for a split second – fearing there was a competition without a trophy, the Organising Committee got down to entering all the other entrants. A new computational device for organising the competition was in use, one that offered greater ease and convenience than the prior model. All was going swimmingly, as the twentieth of our twenty four players duly arrived and was entered. Whereupon number twenty one was entered. Or rather, wasn’t, as at that point a Mister Yvgeny, communicating from somewhere in Moscow, it would seem, sent an electronic message saying that if the Organising Committee wished to continue to use this new computational system beyond twenty players, a payment must be immediately made. Brows furrowed for a second time that evening. What choice had the Liberals? With no system to run the complex swiss system of pairing the very competition itself was in great jeopardy. The Organising Committee held council, took a vote, and decided to enter negotiations with the mysterious Russian. It became apparent that his demand was for seven hundred rubles, in Russian crypto. This foxed the Committee, who had no idea what this ‘crypto’ was (presumably something in the basement of a church, it was thought?). And besides, this being Whitehall, and a few hundred yards from Horseguards, bigod, it was decided that no quarter should be given to such foreign demands and instead it was proposed that the matter be settled for the sum of eight pounds sterling. It was duly accepted, with Mister Yvgeny deciding to grant a month’s use of the system.

Rum dealings, but overcome in the end. The chess could finally begin.

Compared with the run up to the competition, events thereafter were fairly calm. Round one was, a mixed picture as people were seeded in the order they were entered, so some mismatches ensued. Round two saw some of the stronger players move up and the less strong waft downward. Round three is where things began to hot up.

Mister Farleigh, on two out of two had a tricky match as black against Mister Mohammed, but managed to secure the point. The Libs hope for a challenger – Mister Corrigan – was so far producing the goods. Round three saw him dispatch Wil Ransome with the black pieces, which is not always an easy thing. Mister Morell and Mister Shankland fought it out – both two out out two – on board three and Mister Morell managed to secure the point. These were our top three entering the all important round four: Messers Farleigh, Corrigan and Morell. What would round four bring?

All eyes on board one, with Mister Corrigan with white taking on Mister Morell. A genuinely uncertain contest and outcome, saw Mister Corrigan get into a difficult position, think for two long and when the buzzer sounded was forced to make a quick king move to move out of check – only after moving seeing that it fell to a knight fork and the loss of a whole rook. A tough end for Mister Corrigan’s hopes. Mister Farleigh, seeing his competitors falling by the wayside switched up a gear, and overpowered Mister Rosenbaum, who was playing in his first Kennedy Cup. And lo!, what is this? A Liberal pushing up from the pack? Mister Gurnihal, having lost in round three and slipping back into the chasing pack, played an incredible game to beat former Lightning winner Mister Hughes. He was on three points and now one of the leading Libs with the hope of a podium finish.

Round five was the decider, of course. Mister Morell, with white, took on Mister Farleigh on the top board. Mister Morell shot out of the traps with pure agression. Pieces were thrown forward – he was going for the throat. But Mister Farleigh is a wily character, who soaked up the pressure, took what material was offered, saw the chance for the counter, and went for it. Victory Mister Farleigh, with five out of five.

Well done Mister Farleigh, yet again a perfect score. Well done. A very worthy winner.

Postscript from the bar

As is a well established fact in the Liberal Club, the only place were anything truly important happens, is the bar. And it was in the bar that a curious epilogue took place. Mister Tidy, a physicist, proffered the theory that a critical factor in a players lightning chess success is where they are initially in the ranking before a match is played. On this evening, players were ranked in the order they arrived. Mister Tidy’s thesis, explained at length and in detail (whilst a number of bottles of wine were shared by the group), was that it was better to be ranked number 13th or 24th, and so the system used that night favoured late-comers. This was disputed by Mister Farleigh, a mathematician, but the two men held to their guns, and their bottles, until the porters threw the party out. The matter remains unresolved, but the Organising Committee promised Mister Tiday (and indeed, all players) that the full information from the night would be shared, so here is all the statistics available.

The entry list (in order or arrival)