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Written by Cormac MacConnell
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SPRING is here. The funfair at the rear of the antiques shop was alive with music and flying roundabouts as I parked and crossed the road to Powers Pub in the heart of the village. Since the blessed bypass, you can do that safely now without risking life and limb! Powers is the venerable tavern that has guarded the mouth of the road leading down to the pier since the days when horses and carts were the fastest moving traffic in the bendy village. I’ve always liked the place. It’s the kind of pub that your grandfather comfortably drank his pints equipped with the kind of atmosphere in which your grandson will be equally happy behind his pint. It takes several family generations behind the bar to establish that kind of air. John Power, briskly behind the front bar when I arrive, is the third generation. He is being assisted by a lively young relative from Tipperary who is already taking a gentle slagging from the Magpies on the other side of the bar because of the Tipp connection — “Lucky you are that we let you into Clarecastle at all”.
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Inns & Tonics with Cormac MacConnell 