Checkmate in Cathedral Yard
“The Bishop’s Gambit at Mol’s”
The bell above the old wooden door jingled with a cheery note, letting in the sharp morning light and a gust of spring air scented with salt from the River Exe. Mol’s Coffee House, nestled in Cathedral Yard, Exeter, had long been a quiet haunt for artists, philosophers, and men with more ideas than money. But today, it was the venue for something rather more electric: a chess match between Rockford Watson of Chicago, a rising American master known for his razor-sharp tactics, and Steve Race, Member of Parliament for Exeter and a local chess hero.
The tables were pushed back, a single wooden board sat center stage, framed by half-drunk cups of espresso and the curious eyes of the assembled crowd. Rockford had arrived first, tall and deliberate, with a modest demeanor that belied his fierce style over the 64 squares. Steve Race followed shortly after, dressed in a blue blazer, the kind politicians wore when they wanted to seem approachable.
"Shall we?" Rockford gestured, indicating the board.
Race took his seat, nodded, and opened the game with a confident 1.e4. The Sicilian Defense came swiftly: 1...c5. It was a declaration—Rockford wasn’t going to play gently. This would be a fight.
The first few moves came quickly, both players well within their theory. 2.Bc4 e6 3.b3 Nc6 4.Bb2 Nf6 5.Nc3 d6 6.Bb5 Bd7. Race seemed to be going for an unusual bishop setup, flexing his central control, while Rockford developed solidly.
By 7.Nf3 Qc7 8.d4 cxd4 9.Nxd4 Nxd4 10.Bxd7+ Qxd7 11.Qxd4 Ng4, the board had opened up. Steve's pieces were coordinated, but already there was something unsettling in Rockford's posture—calm, calculating. He moved his knight to g4 with a predator’s grace.
The café had quieted. Even the barista stopped mid-pour.
12.Ne2 e5 13.Qd2 Be7 14.Ng3 O-O 15.f3 Nh6 16.O-O f5. A dark storm began to brew. Rockford’s pawn thrust—f5—was not simply an attack. It was a philosophy: initiative is everything. He gave no time for Race to rest.
17.Bxe5 Rac8 18.Bf4 Rf6 19.Bxh6 Rxh6. The crowd gasped softly. A bishop sacrificed—but Rockford had plans. His rook, having replaced the bishop, now stared across the ranks, aligned like a cannon.
Steve’s face hardened as he played 20.Nxf5 Rg6, but there was a flicker of doubt in his eyes. His kingside had started to resemble a crumbling fort. Rockford pressed: 21.c4 Rf8 22.c5 Bf6 23.Rad1 Bd8 24.Nxd6 b6. The moves came fast now, like drumbeats before battle. Race’s attempt to fight back with pawn thrusts—c4, c5—was answered by Rockford’s cold calculation. Every file he opened became another avenue for black’s sleek pieces.
The turning point was subtle, yet brutal. After 25.b4 bxc5 26.bxc5 Bg5, Rockford's dark-squared bishop appeared like a ghost at the feast, threatening shadows. Race, trying to press on the queenside, had left the door wide open.
27.Qd5+ Kh8 28.c6 Qc7 29.e5 Bf4. Now the threats began to align. The bishop on f4, queen poised, and the rooks lurking with menace. Rockford’s forces were everywhere. Race looked across the board, blinking in disbelief. Somewhere in his preparation, he had missed a fissure. And now the avalanche was coming.
30.Rfe1 Qe7 31.Re2 Qh4.
The queen, like a dagger, descended to h4. The café was dead silent. Someone’s spoon clinked on a saucer. No one moved. All eyes were on the impending doom. Steve Race looked up at Rockford—who now looked less like a quiet visitor and more like a storm.
32.Nf7+ Kg8 33.Nh6+ Kh8 34.Ng4 Rxg4 35.fxg4 Qxh2+ 36.Kf2 Bg5+ 37.Qf3 Rxf3+ 38.Kxf3 Qf4+.
It was mate.
The applause was hesitant at first, then surged. Rockford stood and extended a hand. Steve took it, forcing a smile. "You didn’t come all this way just for the coffee, did you?" he joked.
Rockford chuckled. "The coffee’s good. But the board’s better."
A local chess club member, wide-eyed, leaned over to a companion and whispered, “Did you see how he turned the bishop exchange into a full kingside invasion?”
"That wasn’t just chess," the other replied. "That was art."
Later, over lukewarm cappuccinos and a post-mortem analysis, the two men replayed the game. Steve admitted he’d underestimated the pressure Rockford could create with his knight f5 pivot and the rook-lift to f6. “You invited me into a storm I couldn’t predict,” he said.
Rockford smiled quietly. “That’s the thing about this game. Every move is an invitation. It’s what you do with it that matters.”
As the sun slipped lower behind the cathedral spire and shadows lengthened inside Mol’s Coffee House, the board was reset. One game done. Another still to play. For today, Rockford Watson had conquered not just the position, but the imagination of all who watched.
And in that quaint little café in Exeter, on a board no bigger than a tea tray, the world had tilted—if only for a moment—in favor of the Black pieces.
"The Iron Rook and the White Flag"
The late afternoon sunlight cast golden streaks across the checkered floor of Mol’s Coffee House. Outside, the spires of Exeter Cathedral reached skyward in stoic silence, but inside, all attention was fixed once more on the board in the corner—the same one where Rockford Watson had delivered a crisp, attacking masterpiece earlier that day.
Now, he returned to the board not as hunter with the black pieces, but as the one in command—with White. Across from him sat Steve Race, Member of Parliament for Exeter, quietly sipping from a worn ceramic mug. He wore the thoughtful expression of a man who knew the battle was uphill, but who had no intention of going quietly.
The room held its breath as Rockford opened the second game: 1.d4.
Solid. Classical. But deceptively dangerous in the hands of a player like Watson.
Steve mirrored the move: 1...d5, but then deviated from convention with 2...Bd7—a curious early bishop move, flexible but rarely seen. Rockford didn’t blink. He took the center with 3.cxd5, traded confidently, and after 4.Nc3 c6 5.e4, he had already seized the initiative. The board opened early, and Watson was ready.
The pawn tension in the center cracked open by 6.e5 Ne4 7.Nxd5, and then came the forcing sequence: 7...Qa5+ 8.Nc3 Ba4. A temporary distraction, perhaps, but Rockford knew better. He met the bishop's glare with a cold calculation: 9.Qxa4+ Qxa4 10.Nxa4.
The queens were off, but this would be no draw. Rockford wasn’t aiming for equilibrium—he was hunting targets.
With methodical precision, he brought his pieces forward: 11.Bd3 Bb4+ 12.Ke2 Nc6. The king marched to safety by hand—13.Bxe4 Nxd4+ 14.Kd1 Rd8 15.Be3 Nb3+ 16.Kc2 Nxa1+ 17.Kc1—but what looked awkward was, in truth, part of the plan.
Because now, with the center vacated and his minor pieces humming like tuning forks, Rockford castled queenside with style: 17...O-O 18.Nf3.
Steve tried to create counterplay: 18...b5 19.Nc3 Rc8, but Rockford was already two moves ahead, reshaping the game with his signature touch—sharp, patient, and merciless.
20.Kb1 Nb3 21.axb3 Bc5 22.Nxb5 Bxe3 23.fxe3 Rb8.
The b-file, wide open, became a highway. Steve’s rook came barreling down, but Rockford had seen it all. With each pawn move—24.Nfd4 a5 25.Rc1 g6 26.Rc7 h5—the American slowly squeezed life out of the position.
Spectators watched as Rockford’s pieces aligned like clockwork: 27.Bd3 Rfc8 28.Rxc8+ Rxc8 29.Nd6 Rc5. That move—Rc5—hung in the air like a blade. It was subtle. Quiet. But fatal.
By now, Steve had no more threats—only responses. 30.Nf3 Kg7 31.Ne4 Rc8 32.Nd6 Rd8 33.Ng5 Rb8. His pieces, noble though they were, danced in place. They could do no more.
Rockford’s patience was surgical. He refused to rush. His rooks rotated like clock hands: 34.Bc4 Rb4 35.Kc2 Rb6, and finally came the repositioning of the knight—36.Ndxf7 Rb8 37.Bxe6 Kf8—breaking through.
The audience leaned in. Some sipped their drinks without tasting them.
Then came the slow collapse.
38.g4 Rb4 39.gxh5 gxh5 40.e4 Ke7 41.Bd5 Rb8. Steve was defending by instinct now. A pawn here, a tempo there—each move staving off the inevitable.
But then Rockford struck with 42.e6, a pawn turned battering ram.
Steve responded: 42...Rc8+, checking, delaying. But Rockford simply tucked his king away and pushed further.
43.Bc4 h4 44.Nf3 h3 45.N3g5 Rc5 46.e5 Rc8 47.Nxh3 a4.
The final counterblow. Desperate. But too late.
48.Kc3 axb3 49.Kxb3.
The room exhaled. It was over.
Steve stared at the board, saw no tricks, no mates, no miracle forks—only the steady pulse of inevitability.
He extended his hand.
“You’re a hard man to keep up with, Rockford,” he said with a tired smile.
Rockford, ever modest, returned the handshake. “You didn’t make it easy, Steve. You never do.”
The crowd broke into quiet applause. Chess players, historians, a few college students—some were still scribbling down the final moves in their notebooks, eager to replay them in the quiet hours of the night.
Two games. Two victories.
Rockford Watson had come to Exeter as a visiting master—but he would leave a legend.
Later that evening, long after the pieces were packed away and the coffee house returned to its humdrum calm, a pair of regulars still sat by the window.
“I’ve never seen a pawn move feel like a poem,” one said, staring at the now-empty board.
The other nodded. “He played like a man who already knew the ending.”
Outside, the city lights flickered on. Inside, the memory of those games—those 64-square wars—would echo for years.
Mol’s Coffee House had hosted many thinkers, poets, and rebels in its centuries of existence. But today, it had hosted something rarer still:
A master at the height of his power—and a worthy opponent who stood his ground, even as the tide rose around him.
*** I used to be a tournament director for a USCF club. One of my predecessors liked to create stories based on the players and the results of the event. Thank you for reading!!
