[From The Manxman, #2 1911]

Memories of Mona,

by One of our oldest M.P.'s [Manx Passengers]

"To his honour, be it said, he made not the slightest objection, but at once followed me over the wall to the field of battle."

This remarkable article shows how "Tom Spring" fought a school fight with Tom Brown, seventy years ago.

Seeing, Mr. Editor, in the first number of " The Manxman" (long may it flourish!) which you were kind enough to send to me, that you have placed my name rather high up on the catalogue you therein give of "O.M.P.'s," and, seeing also that you invite "further information" from all or any of them who may have such to give, I venture to send you some memoranda of my youthful experiences in your lovely island- kingdom which I hope, though largely personal, may not be uninteresting. And first, let me tell of the occasion which, now some seventy years ago, took me thither. It was, to be brief, for the purpose of pursuing my education there with a view (I believe) of finally entering King William's College, a seminary now become famous, but then not long founded. But here, perhaps, I ought for the term "pursue" to substitute the word "begin," for, up to that time, beyond the acquisition of what may be called the "three R's," under paternal, and, therefore, very indulgent direction, my "education" (so called) had been almost entirely confined to the ancient Persian system of "riding" (shaggy Welsh ponies), "shooting" (smail birds with arrows and occasionally an antique gun), and, I hope, "telling the truth," to which I may add (for a eeason which will presently appear) a somewhat extensive premature knowledge of the "noble art of self-defence," from practice, chiefly, amongst rough rustic companions on the village green — a curriculum which, however excellent in its way, was, of course, a very inadequate qualification for immediate entrance to such a classical establishment as your "K. W. C."

Under these circumstance it was thought desirable I should be placed somewhere where I might acquire the elements at least of those "arts" which tend to "soften manners and prevent us acting like little savages," and the "somewhere" fixed upon in my case was the academy of one Mr. Imeson (peace be to his ashes, though he once — but only once caned me for no reason that I can tell), living in what was then the last house in Stanley Terrace, proceeding inland towards the open country. At present probably there is no open country there.

The chief reason, I believe, why this arrangement was made for me was that an aunt of mine with whom I was to live had apartments, on a flat, in the private residence of this worthy pedagogue, to which the schoolroom was appurtenant, and this arrangement had, therefore, the advantage of ensuring my regular attendance (jove faventen aut non).

But before proceeding further, it may perhaps, be interesting to say that this lady - this dear "aunt of mine," Joanna Hutchinson by name - was a notable person, famous in song, though never seeking to be known, being no other than the Joanna —the "Joanna of the Rock" — and other of Wordsworth's poems, and also (as is now generally believed) the "Louisa" of the famous Lyric —

I met Louisa in the shade,
And, having seen that lovely maid,
Why should I fear to say
That she is ruddy, fleet, and strong
And down the rocks can leap along
Like rivulets in May.

And she hath smiles to earth unknown;
Smiles that with motion of their own
Do spread and sink and rise.
That come and go with endless play,
And ever, as they pass away,
Are hidden on her eyes.

These lines were written of her in the year 1801, but at the time I speak of (some thirty years later) the "leaping" powers had passed away, though the "smiles" were still there. perhaps more beautiful than ever. She sleeps now in Kirk Braddan Churchyard by the side of her brother (Henry Hutchinson), also worthy to be reckoned, as I think, a "notable" of the Isle, who, after a life of toil and adventure upon the seas, which might well form the subject of a romance, settled down in the island for the re- mainder of a well-spent life, finding there, as he expressed it, "a harbour and a home." For, in addition to many other accomplishments, he was a poet, and that of no mean order, as is testified by the fact that his famed brother-in-law and friend, William Wordsworth, has enshrined a "sonnet" of his, as "By a Retired Mariner," by side of some of his own relating to the Isle of Man.

But to revert to my schooldays at Mr. Imeson's Academy. Of these I could dilate at length, but must not, if I am not to have a "Manxman" all to myself, Suffice it to say and this only for the purpose of leading up to an anecdote which will, I think, be of special interest to your readers) that I was duly put into the Latin Grammar" (I can see my new copy of it at this day, and scent its leather binding), and had the portion of the "Accidence" which I was expected to learn by heart duly told off to me each day. This, of course, I had to repeat either to the " Master" or to his assistant (who I think, his son) every morning. On one occasion, however, it so happened that, Mr. Imeson being absent, as I believe, from illness, the charge of the school was left to his son (as I think) alone. By another chance, which turned out a fatality, the son was temporarily called away just as he was about to "hear my lesson." In this emergency the book was handed over to one of the pupils who, though no older than myself, was far more advanced, and regarded, I believe, as the dux of the school. To this young doctor I proceeded to repeat my portion of the "Proprea quoe Maribus," or whatever it was that I had to say, but, whether I said it wrong, or said it in a manner which my temporary "master" did not consider sufficiently respectful, I cannot say, but the result was, I believe (1) some sharp reproof on his part, (2) some very cheeky reply on mine, (3) as far as I can remember, a slap in the face, or personal assault of some kind, from "teacher," (4) a sharp return from the shoulder from me, and (5) a general scrimmage, during which Mr. Imeson, junr., reappeared on the scene, demanding to know what all the row was about. Of course, there were explanations, and of course, those of the one in authority were believed before mine, and I stood convicted of gross disorder, the assistant remarking, I remember, "Oh. Mr. Tom Spring fighting again I see!" for, coming from Hertfordshire, the native county of that celebrated member of the P. R., I had, it seemed, either from boasting of his exploits, or perhaps, trying to imitate them - though I have now no recollection of that acquired that proud nickname.

So the matter ended, for the time at least, but not for ever. For, on coming out of school, my first proceeding was to invite my late "master" to accompany me into the field adjoining the school house, there to give me satisfaction for for what I considered the gross injustice which had been done to me. To his honour, be it said, he made not the alightest objection, but at once followed me over the wall on to the field of battle, accompanied by most of our fellow-pupils to "see the fun." But, fun or not to them, it was no fun to us, for, without many preliminaries, we were soon at close grips in real earnest,;and a battle took place, to which that of Entellus and Dares, of classic fame, or, in later days, of Sayers and the Benica Boy, were but child's play, had there been any one there to record it. How it ended I will not say, but, finally, one of us threw up the sponge — explanations ensued, and in the end my antagonist and I shook hands and left off the best of friends, as honourable antagonists generally do. But, why do I tell all this, and why do I think that your readers will be interested in it? Why, simply because the "antagonist" I here speak of was no other than the boy, "the father to the man, whom you say Mr. Hall Caine pronounces to be the most famous Manxman living or dead, but who was then known to us, his school fellows, Tom Brown, of Kirk Braddan. He, alas, has gone on before, and is unable to corroborate my story, but there may be some, perhaps, living to whom he has referred to it. If so, I shall be pleased to be informed.

When he left "Imeson's," as I believe he did to enter King William's College. and I left the island for another destination, we parted for ever — he to become "the most famous Manxman living or dead," and I — well, to become the writer of this hitherto unrecorded anecdote of him — a sufficient honour.

Of my other schoolfellows at " Imeson's" I have no distinct recollection, and can only recall the name of one. This was one Lawrence Adamson, whose father, I believe, held some official appointment in the island, and resided, like Mr. Imeson, in Stanley Terrace. There, at a children's party, I remember "Lorry" and I displaying our friendship and solidarity by putting our noses in the same meal tub in search of sixpences sup- posed to be buried therein, and I still possess a token of his effusion in the form of a copy of that estimable but rather dull treatise, popular in its day, entitled "The Death of Abel," with his name inseribed, It in quite possible that he may be living now, as we were about the same age. If so, I greet him.

Before I left the Island my good Aunt removed to Athol Street, into a tall house at the end looking down into the Bay. On my only visit to the Island since that time (in 1871) it had become converted into a place of business, and was, I believe, occupied by a photographer. My chief recollection of the place centres round a boy, the son of the people of the house, with whom I chummed. He went not to Imeson's, but to another school somewhat less select, and I remember our conversation once turning on the relative effectiveness of the canes and tawses and other instruments of torture in our respec- tive schools, he affirming that our's were nothing' to what his school possessed. And to prove this he took me one day during play hours on a visit of inspection, and I had to confess that he was right, for a more horrible collection of "gentle persuaders" I never beheld. I was consoled, however, by the assurance that they were seldom used.

The School-house still stands, where the latin lesson was heard and the challenge given
[Photo by L. B. Bradshaw, Douglas]

And this chumming with an Island boy brings to my recollection the strained relations generally subsisting between us (the English boys) and the natives, for the good feeling of my casual guide to the Torture Chamber was exceptional. In general there was deadly feud between us, Hardly a day passed without some encounter in the Sstreets, and there was one street — known as Sand Street, occupied chiefly by the families of native fishermen — down which we "foreigners," as we were contemptuouely called, hardly dared to venture except in full force "Let me catch you in Sand Street" was a common threat on the part of a juvenile inhabitant of that part when he found himself in the minority outside of it,

As an instance of the virulence of this native animosity I may mention an adventure which happened to myself, Returning home from school, as I generally did, along the sands by the seashore one evening with a comrade we stood to watch the progress of a steamer making for the harbour. After inspecting it for some time I said to my companion, I think it's the "Mona's Queen," whilst he thought it might be the "Queen of the Isle" or some other. Hearing our discussion one of two Manx lads standing by shouted, with contemptuous laughter, "Why, it's neither, you fool! It's King Orry!"

This was enough, and in a moment we were at grips, or rather he was down on the sands, and if a friendly carpenter passing by from his work had not interposed and carried him back to Sand-street, I do not know what would have happened. I should probably have made a hole for him in the sands.

And this reminds me of another incident which I witnessed on the same sands on my way, as before, home from school. There was not a soul in sight, and where she emerged from I cannot say, but suddenly a woman, wild with excitement and brandishing a knife, rushed across the beach and into the sea. Then, as suddenly, a man, mounted on one of the bathing machine horses, rushed in after her, seized her by her arm and tried to drag her to land. She resisted using her weapon on the horse's neck, drawing blood, and was finally, with assistance arriving, carried back into Sand-street. What was the cause of the struggle, and what became of it all I never learned, but have often wondered since. In those days there were no halfpenny evening papers on the watch for copy, and here may have been a tragedy which would have filled the columns of half a dozen of them nowadays for a week.

"Going to school" was a very different affair with us boys in those days than it is now. In school the tasks were more arduous, and outside there were no organised games. Tops, marbles, and hoops sufficed for the amusement of youngsters of an age who would scorn such child's play now. There was no boy's cricket. The nearest thing to it that I saw was the English game of bandy, or hockey, which the Manx boys called "camog," about the only Manx word I can remember, The first real cricket match, however I ever saw in my life wae played in the Isle of Man, It took place in the Castle Mona grounds and was a match, I think, between gentlemen of the Island and a team from Liverpool, and amongst the participants, who, by the by, all wore

But, if there were few boyish "games," there were some "sports," in which we could indulge, and of these fishing was my great delight — not the scientific fishing of my later years, but the taking of anything that would come to the bait sitting in a boat in the bay, or, for preference, in the far-scented depths of Douglas Harbour, For there sported a fish which I never heard of before or since — a lively little chap, called the Gilpin. I wonder whether he is there still, or whether civilisation has banished him. Perhaps some of your readers can say?

The headmaster's house in Broadway, just as it was when the fight took place.

It is the last house in Stanley Terrace, and there is still a few feet left of the field battle. The boys scrambled over the little wall behind the lamp. The rest of the field is now, strangely enough, Hutchinson Square.

And, talking of Douglas Harbour, I am reminded that in my day there was at the head of it a floating structure, made out of an old sailing vessel, known as "The Mariners' Chapel, a fitting place of worship for those that "go , down to sea in ships" and who have witnessed the wonders of their Creator in the vasty "deep." Thither the "Retired Mariner" I have spoke of was wont to repair, and many others, who like the more famous "Ancient Mariner" of the poet, had learned the lesson of their lives that

"He prayeth best who loveth best
All things both great and small;
For the dear God that loveth us,
He made and loveth all."'

I quite forget how long I was on the Island, but I know it was not long, for my anxious relatives thought after a time that its climate, somewhat humid did not agree with me. I developed a hoarseness, which, considering that I have it still occasionally, after a period of some four score years, seems not to have been really a very alarming danger signal. But it was made the excuse for my going, though I am inclined to think the real reason was that my good Aunt began to find that the charge of a youngster like me was more than she had bargained for. But, long or short, the period of my stay in the Island was an eventful one, for I well remember the stir, amounting almost to an insurrection, there was about the change in the Manx coinage and its weights and measures, arising from the suspicion on the part of the populace that they were being defrauded by an arbitrary act of Government. So great was the commotion that military from Glasgow were sent for to quell the rioting. My Aunt and I happened to be in Peel on the day when the old coins, weights, etc., were to be brought in to be exchanged for new, and I well remember the house in which we were stopping being barricaded for the night, in spite of which a big stone found its way into my bedroom through the window, which might have terminated my career prematurely. Fortunately it did not, or I should not now be writing these gossiping reminiscences for you and "The Manxman."

And, as I cannot now remember the exact date of my arrival in the Island, so I am very uncertain as to that of my departure. The only "crossing" of which I have a distinct remembrance is one which I think took place in 1839, which is the reason I gave that date in my first letter to you. For on that occasion I remember embarking with my father at Douglas one day in January before noon, expecting to be in Liverpool well before night. Well, all I know of that voyage is that we did not arrive there till broad daylight on the following morning, having been kept knocking about the Irish Sea and the entrance to the Mersey all night. It was a fearful voyage. Captain Gill, who was the commander of the vessel, told my father he had not been out on such a night for thirty years. My father and I were almost the only passengers on board, and we were kept down in the cabin. the floor of which was a foot deep in water. To keep me dry and to prevent my falling into the. slop, I was bound up with a large silk handkerchief to the brass rail running round the seating of the cabin. Towards morning, feeling cramped, I made an effort to escape, and got to the top of the companion steps, when, lo! off flew my cap — a black Tam o' Shanter — and I have never seen it since. At the same time a sailor with a growl, pushed me back headlong into the cabin, saying, in the words of the pilot in the song, "Youngster, this is no place for thee!" And I realised that it wasn't.

On arriving at Liverpool next day we were received by a crowd of people on the landing stage, who evidently never expected to see our vessel again. My father and I (to abbreviate as much as possible) made our way to the nearest inn, where we rested for twenty-four hours. Then we crossed by ferry to Birkenhead — there were no railways our way then — and took coach into Herefordshire via Shrewsbury, finding our way blocked in many places by timber fallen across the roads, blown down in the fearful storm. That it was a fearful storm, indeed, was evidenced to me some twenty years after when recording my experiences to a certain clergy- man in Yorkshire, who, after hearing them and comparing the time, without a word retired to his desk, took out thence a piece of paper folded like a doctor's "powder," opened it, and showed me what appeared dust. "That," said he, "is sea-sand, gathered from the sashes of these windows on the morning after the storm you refer to," and his house is at least fifty miles from the Lancashire coast!

These are some of my I.O.M. reminiscences. I could give you more, if need be, but I fancy you will cry, " Enough!"

JOHN HUTCHINSON.

FAREWELL TO MONA.

" Farewell dear Mona—farewell happy hours,
Ye lofty crags farewell, and fairy dales ,
Farewell ye leafy woods and rainbow flowers, And
fare ye well old legendary tales;
Farewell ye elfins sporting in green vales,
Mysterious cairn and Druidical well,
Farewell ye odorous and spicy gales;
Love, beauty, all of joy that tongue may tell,
To you I breathe a sad adieu — good night — farewell'