Beatrice Lowry
I first came across Beatrice some forty years ago as an opponent at the bridge table. By all accounts she had been a talented golfer in her youth, but had the misfortune to fall down the stairs in Royal Portrush Golf Club. Her leg was badly broken. It took eleven months to heal, causing severe arthritis which was to plague her for the rest of her life. No one would have guessed the amount of pain she was in. The treatments also took their toll on her constitution over the years, but she smiled it all off. She is one of the bravest people I have ever met.
With golf ruled out, she turned to bridge to which she brought a sharp intelligence and a remarkable memory. Part of the brave face she showed to the world was the immaculate way she was always turned out. But what singled her out for me was the hurried, dashing manner of her speech; you had the feeling that it was trying to catch up with the speed of her thoughts. She was a formidable opponent, but always gracious and pleasant. We first played together at a congress in Portstewart. We were thrown together as a result of our respective partners withdrawing at the last minute. We hit it off and decided we’d enjoy playing regularly together. We had quite a lot of success, wins in a couple of NIBU congress teams events and we were not infrequently deserving of fairly honourable mention in pairs competitions. She also teamed up with Toni Sproule to represent N Ireland in the Lady Milne, but she and her husband John moved from their lovely old house in Doagh to an apartment in Portstewart. This brought an end to her partnerships in the Belfast area. It was only when Covid hit that she and I were able to resume our partnership online. Her health had deteriorated further and online bridge was a great means of coping. The last I saw her was when my wife and I visited her in the Royal Victoria Hospital. She was in great form; we shared memories and relived events at the bridge table. We intended to go back to see her, but we felt that in some way we had invaded a privacy that was central to her defences against the calamity she was having to endure.
Two particular memories come to mind. The first was the glorious pass she made in the Congress Teams. It was the last round, we were lying third and we were playing against Henry Kane and ‘Bunny’. Henry opened one club, I passed, Bunny passed and Beatrice started to think and think. Eventually she passed. There was a game on for them! That pass gave us the victory. We shot up from third to first. The second was us driving home from Spa. We had done quite well, coming third and there was much to discuss as usual about what we hadn’t done quite so well. It was dark and as we approached Belfast I didn’t see the familiar landmarks I expected to see. I got quite alarmed. I wasn’t sure whether to blame reality or my perception of it. As we drove on I did see something I recognised. And immediately all became clear. We were in Newcastle, a hundred and eighty degrees off target. Beatrice had the reputation of being the worst navigator in the world. This wasn’t her fault, it was mine, but I was able to hide behind her reputation.
Roy Blair