WordSmith Column by Gerard Smith

WordSmith: The rules of romance and more…

WordSmith Column by Gerard Smith

Published: Sat 22 Nov 2025, 6:00 PM

“If I were President of Ireland I would bring back romance…” As I listened to the woman deliver her hypothetical presidential speech in the Pastoral Centre that was once St Patrick’s College; such was the passion in her oration I found myself wishing she was indeed, The President.

She was taking part in the annual ‘Friendship Bowl Competition’ for the Irish Woman’s Association (ICA) for which I was asked to be adjudicator. Two women from each guild were given three minutes to speak on their chosen topic from a list of four. The lady above chose: ‘If I were President of Ireland’ and another lady chose: ‘Summers now and long ago.’ Their respective wonderfully penned prose pulled me back to a distant summer in which romance loomed large.

Large swathes of brutal bramble slowed my progress into the woods that lead to St Patrick’s College. I was on a mission to spy on my big sister. Maria was my world; her company was the centre of my life; but for some reason she was walking away from our world and into another I didn’t understand.

She’d taken to painting her eyelids blue and applying black stuff to her eyelashes, “What you doing that for?” I asked. She snapped back, “Never you mind!” She was wearing a new dress, it was bright yellow, and she twirled before she made for the door. When I followed she stopped me, “I’m off to watch a football match, stay here, you hate football.”

Football, Maria hated it as well! What in the world was happening to her? There was a boy with glossy black hair who she often talked about, I suspected he may have something to do with her change. So when I saw her take-off up the avenue towards St Pat's, I followed the woodland way, secretly.

Surreptitiously, I navigated my way out of bramble and into the woods where I picked up the distant sound of football. These sounds ebbed and flowed like an ocean storm carrying me along on their wake until I burst through a clearing onto a great choral crescendo – a goal had been scored. Players and spectators cheered in celebration of the heroic scorer.

I crouched like a wily-fox; focussing on the players as they milled about the pitch. I saw that they weren’t men but boys on the cusp of maturity. Their parents mostly made up the spectators, they swarmed the pitch; proud fathers back-slapped triumphant sons, while loving mothers soothed their dearly defeated.

A splash of bright-yellow took me away from the celebrations – it was Maria. She was sitting on a grassy embankment next to the glossy-haired boy, the two of them laughing and talking animatedly. The sight of them together instilled in me a strange feeling for which I had no name. All I knew was that I had never felt like this before; it was an unpleasant emotion. I wanted it to go away, but the more I looked at them, the deeper this feeling became. Soon, I had to look away before I was swallowed whole by this strange pang that pummelled me.

I eyed the green grass, trying to make sense of this monstrous feeling. It was a type of sadness, laced with anger, and accompanied by a looping question, “Why was Maria with him when she should be with me?” My sister had changed, I actually presumed she was possessed by some sort of personality altering demon. Not wanting to see anymore, I stood up and walked back into the woods, the strange feeling following me.

As that summer continued to bloom, Maria returned to me and began to confide in her kid brother. And when she did the feeling I now know as jealousy fell away, replaced by support for her during the highs and lows of her first tumultuous love. That summer my big sister had come of age; and through her I vicariously learned the rules of romance.

Back in The Pastoral Centre I carefully considered my adjudication of the ladies three-minute-prose. After giving feedback I duly delivered my assessment and announced the winning team.

But, whereas long ago I’d misread the rules of romance; this evening I’d missed a crucial caveat in the rules. When the President of the Cavan guild gently pointed it out I winced. Wincingly, I backtracked on my decision. I felt like I’d crowned the wrong Miss-World(s). But, I conferred the crown on the winning team as per the rules. Thankfully, the women took it with good-humoured-grace and I ruled out a Presidential reprimand.