Section 4 - 'The Isle of Man in the 1860s'

In the sixties many attempts were made on the Island to find coal or other ore. One of these finds was in the rivwr bank behind Glen More Mill. There was found a deposit of black stuff which was thought to be black lead of the same nature as the valuable deposits near Keswick, nothing came of it however.

At Maughold head there is some limestone and associated with it deposits of iron ore, which are now worked out, it was thought that the Cumberland coal field lying on the limestone might extend to the north of the Island, borings were made under the supervision of Professor Boyd Dawkins. No coal was found but deposits of salt. This was fortunate for the island, or it might have become like Wigan or Whitehaven. It is possible that the Whitehaven coal fields might extend out as far as the William bank and that if borings were made in the shallow water there or on the Bahama bank the western edge of tha field might be struck and very easily worked from there, but the Island has a better enterprise than that, the clean and tidy visitor is better than the grimy collier,and more profitable.

In those days we did not in the least feel that we lived in a remote or lonely place, the outside world did not count for much. England was a place that was far away like Siberia or central Africa. We were the people who lived in the very centre of things, those cotton balls who appeared for a little time, soon went back to their lonely places where they slaved and worked in unknown wretched conditions.

No place is lonely where the heart is. We were happy and content, but we too had our days of excitement. Fairs were then frequent and were real lively occasions. There were no weekly marts then. Tynwald fair was the peak of excitement, from early morning men and cattle and sheep drifted along the roads getting more and more mixed and confused as they neared the fair ground. There they soon covered the whole field and the roads near. Men and boys with sticks trying to keep their little lots seperate from the others, or to straighten things out again after some poor cow, driven wild with fright and noise, had dashed through the crowd in an effort to escape, then yells,shouts curses rising like the din of battle until the poor animal was caught and brought back on a rope. As the morning advanced the carts would begin to arrive with the women folk, perhaps with a few sheep or young pigs lying inside on the straw. Squeals would then be added to the din as these youngsters would be examined off by a purchaser. On the roads among the people. or in an adjoining field the horses for sale would be examined, or trotted about to show their paces.

The bargaining for a price was not done in a whisper. Sometimes a friend or two would join in with a word of criticism, or praise. Ocassionally the buyer would go off (or pretend to go off)to look at another animal which " was going cheaper, when this occured a farmer who had been standing near and keeping his eye on the play would stroll in and pretend to be dissappointed with the beast but would make a bid and perhaps bring off a deal, this was struck, litteraly struck,by a loud smack on the palms of the hand hence the phrase "he struck a bargain" in the hand would be the earnest or luck penny. After that the parties would probably go to a tent to seal it with a drink of "jough" or ale.

When you have climbed Craig Willies hill you come by Lambfell chapel. It is on the left or west side of the road, a little before you come to it there is on the right hand side of the road a water trough. In it there used to be quite commonly some minute eel like creatures. They were about four inches long, and as thick as a horse hair,and black in colour. We used to believe that those were eels which had developed from the hair of horses which had come there to drink, many a times have I got hair from Boxers tail put a knot on it and put it in the trough, as we are going to Sunday school. We could never find the hair we had put in but there was sure to be one or two of these little eels slowly moving about. The idea that horses hair could turn to eels was quite widespread at that time. A few years ago I sent one of these things up to Kew for examination and got back a report that it was not an eel and not a horsehair and had a name almost as long as itself, sometimes these scientific people are a nuisance in their attachment to accuracy. No belief is sacred to them.

When we went to Sunday school to Lambfell chapel on Sunday mornings the big man there was Mr John Quine the owner of Lambfell a very big man with fair hair, he was usually spoken of as Lammal the name of his place,

I dont know how much religion he had but he was a sort of patron of the chapel, always had the English ministers to tea when they came to preach, but never the "locals". He always went to Douglas market on the Saturdays and as is the common practice in those days, always called at one or two places of refreshment on his way home, the last one being Matt Hunthans. There he would stand in the middle of the kitchen floor with his hat tilted back a little and while taking his glass survey the company. If he saw among them anyone who had a wife, or children waiting at home, he would order them off home at once with a warning of the evils of attending public houses and wasting their time and money, he did not stop with criticism of poor men, but was equally free with the bishop whom he told that he was a mere bird of passage and knew nothing about the matter in hand,and ought to listen to those who did.

Just below Lambfell chapel and the water trough with its eels was Ballasayle farm and across from it was Charley Sayles threshing mill worked by water stored in a little dam in the valley below the chapel. It was a very busy place in autumn and winter all the farmers round about bringing their corn there to be threshed. It is now gone and forgotten.

The chapel had on great day in the year, the anniversary when the services were held out in the open air. The chapel being far too small to hold the crowd of friends, relations, and supporters from far and wide. Everybody in anyway connected with the chapel, or district, whereever they lived came to the anniversary. The ladies from town or country made a great show with the latest fashions, hoops and bustles and paisley shawls and dainty parasols with folding handles and fringes.

Behind the chapel there was a little plot of ground ,on this there was a lot of little mounds of earth a foot or so high. On these were placed in a crescent planks from the timber yard on which the people sat. In the centre of this was a platform to hold the harmonium the choir and the preacher, behind it and above it were the stages on which the children sat in their best clothes all in full view of the crowd, boys on one side girls on the other.

Then the singing. No oratorio,or opera,was ever like it when held in a crowded hall. It melted away in the clear air and up beyond the sky, all the voices keeping clear and fresh without that clash and conflicting echoes heard within doors. Singing in the open air has a wonderful charm. These open air anniversaries were then in their prime. everyone turned out the men wore top hats some venerable and green with age,and of fashions - long past, at the prayers the hats were not taken off but tilted to one side and held there by hand this gave some of the old men a rougueish look not in keeping with the situation.

The special preachers were brought from far and near, some were very eloquent men. I remember to this day hearing old Christian of Lewiage at an anniversary preaching in Manx. He was a bigman with reddish hair and a wonderful voice. I seem to hear him yet after nearly eighty years saying the lords prayer. He was on a high platform, stretchings out his hands and looking up to the sky as if God was there sitting on a cloud. Then the appeal in his voice as he spoke,"air ein thance sniew casheric the riew the annim".

Christian was a most able man very advanced in his ideas, he was credited with having peculiar knowledge of the mysterious arts and to be able to outwit the devil, to have second sight and power over evil spirits. He was alleged to be making a brazen head which would tell the future, as well as past events in ones life, but this was spoiled by an ignorant assistant perhaps a fortunate thing as it would be useful, only to the police,

When you leave Ballig Bridge and go towards Glen Helen you pass a little side valley running up on the left, and a narrow road climbing up the steep hill to come out at the top on to the very old ridge road from Tynwald Hill away to Kirk Michael and the north. The road which was the only way long before the road through Glen More was made. This little steep road was called the Quarrel road. Why it was called so or whether there was a quarrel I never heard. Half way up this road is a little chapel christened Ebenezer but commonly called Gawnes chapel. Quite near to it lived Mr Gawne, he had been farming out in Australia and had returned to end his days at home. This little chapel had four pews ,two on each side of the pulpit facing each other. The rest of the room was taken up by forms all facing the pulpit the Gawnes sat in one of the pews facing the pulpit and our pew was behind theirs. Mrs Gawne had on a wonderful Paisley shawl with georgeous fir cones with twisted tops among its patterns. I was greatly interested in the patterns on this shawl. During the sermon which did not in the least interest me, I found it hard to kill time and would to begin to trace out the patterns on the shawl with my finger. After enduring this creeping feeling on her back for some time Mrs Gawne would quietly turn partly to one side and reach back to give me either a clove or a peppermint which took up my attention for a time and allowed her to concentrate on the sermon. Mrs Gawne wore a great, big bonnet. I dont remember if I ever saw her face but I still see that cone pattern on the Paisley shawl. Shawls seem to have gone out of fashion which is a pity as they were very graceful and beautiful form of dress. The Paisley shawl also seemed to be the very summit of the weavers art,both for colour and design.

Good Fridays stand qut in my memory very clearly, they were always fine sunny days, we were astir early in the morning while the valley was still in shadow the iron fire tools were put aside and a stick used as a poker, this reminded us of the iron nails used at the crucifixion. We collected sandwiches hard boiled eggs and buttered soda cakes,and currant gob. A basket, little tin cans,a bottle or two with buttermilk and a crab hook and we were ready. Instead of going round by the road we went straight across the country. First we climbed up the steep hillside among the rocks and gorse till we got into the sunshine, then over hedges and fields of, the Vaish farm where we loitered to look for lapwings eggs in the plowed firld,or the young birds crouching as still, as stones and so speckled that you could look straight at them and could not sre them.

Then down into the next little valley and up the other side to come out on the old Kew road. Across it and standing on the hedge looked out over the whole world. There far away in the sky were the Mountains of Mourne in Ireland and on the other hand away to the right was the Mull of Galloway in Scotland and between the wide wide sea, here and there would be a sailing ship on the horizon and once down below we saw the fin of a big fish which swam along. It was a perkin moor, we were told.

Then we made for the giants stones high up on the brows of Lhergy Dhoo and made out the marks of his fingers when he threw it from Peel Castle. We did not then know of the white stones high on the brews at Arragon Moor or the white stones high on the moor at Morte Hoe in Devon, or other coastal landmarks put up by men in long past forgotten days

When we had rested here and feasted our eyes on the great city of Peel and its wonderful castle. Down the hill we ran between the two Lhergy Moors Moores and Cains where there was a fierce and angry dog and on across the Peel road and to the cliffs down which a track led to the beach and the sea. The White Strand full of wonderful things a new world to us.

Red crabs under the rocks when the tide was out,flitters everwhere, periwincles in the pools, dullish, tangles little fishes of odd shapes and colours little green and brown crabs, running sideways. and then the pebbles of all colours and sizes, a perfect treasure house for a boy with a sling. Enough to kill all the giants in the world. then came the lunch on the grass at the bottom of the brew. buttermilk,soda cakes currant cob hard boiled eggs then to explore the big yawls drawn up above tide. Clinker built with high bow and stern and rowlocks for four oars a side. What voyages we could make. Then torn away by the elders from this paradise. Loaded with flitters dullish periwincles little green crabs some little fish in the bottles and the long tramp over the hills home and finally creeping down into the warm peacefull valley and such a tea and such stories about the exhibits and so to bed.