SUMMER HOLIDAYS

In Irish schools, the end-of-year exams began at the end of May and finished in early June. Then came the great exodus and the long summer holiday which lasted for virtually three months.       

For me it was wonderful. Three whole months to spend at home. Into the bargain my cousins would come over from Liverpool to join us. So I had two older cousins, Renie and Audrey, to play with whilst Dorothy, the third, teamed up with my brother Des.

Glamorgan House lent itself to all sorts of games, but we preferred, naturally, to be outside as much as possible. My mother introduced us to a game which, for some reason which escapes me, we called 'Daddy Bunchie.' The back porch and the front porch were dens. The object was to get, by way of the garden, from one den to the other, without being caught by Daddy Bunchie. Obviously, it was just a variation of many another game, but we found it deliciously exciting.

I think perhaps it was my mother who made it so. She often joined in our games and she did it as though she was enjoying it every bit as much as we were. Perhaps she was. Each of us would make our own way from one porch to the other, stealing there as quietly as possible but conscious always that very likely we were being stalked. Whichever route one took, there were so many hiding places on the way, and one never knew where the 'enemy' might be. When Daddy Bunchie pounced, there would be an absolute tumult of shrieking and shouting, and probably a chase.

It was just as well we lived in the country. The noise we made would hardly have been acceptable in a built-up area. We were not always so noisy, of course, but that particular game was so exciting that we could not contain our exuberance.

One of our chief delights was a dismantled pram. The average prams of to-day bear no real resemblance to the high prams of that period. To start with, at that time they were much higher, larger and, in particular, deeper, on a well sprung chassis.

The body of the one we had, boasted two seats, one at either end with a well in the middle, deep enough for little ones to put their feet down comfortably. Ideal if one had toddler twins! Furthermore, there was a loose panel which could be used to fill in the centre well. With this in place the pram converted to a suitable conveyance for a baby lying flat.

There was a lot to be said in favour of the high pram. In particular, one avoided the back trouble that can be caused by having to stoop over a low one whilst holding a child. I have to say however, that when my brother was small it was not long before my mother discarded her high pram and acquired a low one called a Tan Sad.

And so the high pram became a plaything for us children. The body was removed from the chassis and each part had a function of its own in our games.

Laxey was only a village but in those days there was a lot going on there. The MER station was quite sizable because, apart from being on the line between Douglas and Ramsey, it was the starting point for the electric trains going up the mountain - Snaefell. There was a flour mill in operation and there were several 'hotels.' The main one was called 'The Laxey Glen Hotel,' which along with the Laxey Glen Gardens and a grocery store, was owned by the Williamson family.

The Laxey Glen Gardens were very busy during the summer months. So many things went on there. There were refreshment rooms, a small boating lake and an outdoor sprung dance floor, all in delightful scenery. Throughout the summer months, bands played there for the dancing. Sometimes we had Scots or Irish pipe bands, all very colourful in their twirling kilts.

But what interested us was, of course, the children's area. There were seesaws and swings and a wonderful hobby horse roundabout. There were also double boat type swings which were not unlike the top part of the old high pram. Two people were needed to operate them, sitting facing each other, and each hauling on a rope from the opposite end.

I cannot say if that is where we got our idea, but we used our pram top as a rocking boat. We also made ourselves a very elementary seesaw with a plank and anything solid to lay it over.

Our imagination must have been pretty fertile for we never seemed to need a lot of expensive toys to keep us entertained. On the contrary, a number of old boxes (especially the wooden orange boxes) became a variety of different things. A row of them, for instance, might well be a train with a driver, conductor and passengers. Another day those same boxes would be converted into shops or even the surgery, and the players would become shop assistants, customers, doctors, nurses and patients.

The pram chassis was quite another matter. We - that is, Renie, Audrey and myself, called it the pushcart and it provided us with endless enjoyment and excitement. The house had a long drive which went from the back gate, (behind and to one side of the house) in a wide arc, sloping right down to the front gate.

Although the gate at the back was always kept shut because it led out to the railway lines, that was not the case with the front one. That was a wide, heavy, five-barred gate and it was always left open. Thus my father could drive the car in and out without having to open or shut the gate. In the event of an emergency call this would undoubtedly save time.

The drive was on a slope from back to front. We placed pieces of wood on the pushcart and took ourselves for an exhilirating ride from one gate to the other. This was when we were younger. As we got older we became much more daring and would allow the pushcart to take us right out into the road.

I feel sure we were never meant to do this but of course we did. The road beyond the front gate was a hill and coming down the driveway to meet it, we would pick up as much speed as possible. Our object was to see how far up the hill we could get before the pushcart refused to go any further.

Looking back to-day, it all seems extremely foolhardy. And yet it was probably not quite as dangerous as it sounds. The hill was very much a little-used country road and there was a good view of it from the drive. The main danger would have been from the continuation of the road downwards, beyond the gate. For us this was a blind spot. Any traffic coming up this road would be behind us and out of our view.

In those days, however, there were far fewer cars on the roads than there are to-day, and that particular road saw very little traffic at all. My father used the road of course but we would have a fair idea when we might expect him. Indeed in that area we might just as easily meet a pony and cart as a car.

Our milk was delivered to us direct by the farmer who made his round with a pony and cart loaded with a milk churn. We would take out our own containers to him, the milkman would fill his pint or quart container from a tap at the bottom of the churn and then transfer the milk to our jugs.

Our antics on the pushcart remind me of our own car. We had a Morris Cowley with a dickey seat and like many another car at that time, keeping up speed when going up a steep incline could be difficult. The Whitebridge near Onchan was one such hill. There was a long steep descent to a very low point and then an equally long steep climb up the other side. In order to have enough speed to start uphill from the lowest point, it was essential to come hell-for-leather downwards!

Much as we enjoyed it we did not spend all our time in the garden. There were other pleasures and one of them was the sea. Laxey Bay was wide. It stretched from the Cairn on the one side, towering up from Laxey harbour and beach, to Clay Head overlooking Garwick beach, on the other.

My father was an excellent swimmer. He claimed that his father had taught him, when he was two years old, by throwing him from a boat into Bantry Bay! I am not sure whether this was true or whether he was telling us tall stories. At all events he was determined my cousins and I should learn. He had already taught my mother who was moderately good. The two of them would take Renie, Audrey and myself to the beach and give us lessons. Later on, Mother taught Dorothy and Des.         

When they were teaching us they would each never take more than one of us at a time, into the water. I was far from keen as I always hated the cold. My memories of early lessons are of waiting for my turn, sitting on the beach in a swimsuit - or bathing costume, as it was then called. Hugging myself and shivering.

The fact remains that we all learned to swim. I never became particularly good at it but at least, with such skill as we acquired we were all much safer on the beach. This was just as well, considering the amount of time we spent there over the years.

Laxey beach was a paradise. At high tide it was shingly with areas of soft dry sand which the sea did not cover. This was of no interest to us. The sand merely stuck unpleasantly to wet feet, which I, at any rate, found sharply uncomfortable, and it did not lend itself to building. There were however, so many large rocks of every imaginable shape and size to play on and climb over. As the tide ebbed small seaweed-covered rocks would appear, which in turn gave way to a wide expanse of sand.

Because of the rocks Laxey beach seemed to us to be quite unique. There was never anything dull about it. On the contrary there was always something to do. If the sea appeared too rough sometimes when the tide was in, there were always the rocks.

When the tide was out there was so much sand and it was so clean. We were never very interested in building sand castles. Oh no. What we built were houses - houses with walls which were maybe three inches high! Our houses had all the rooms we wanted and of course we built the furniture too. Tables and chairs and beds and sofas - the lot.

When the sea was calm at low tide, bathing was a little dull. A good swell, however, was very popular. Really big rollers were even better. There was nothing we liked more than floating up over the crest and coming down into the trough on the other side. If the sea was rough, the rollers turned quickly into breakers and the movement was faster and even more exciting.

Looking back over the swimming lessons and the pleasure we had subsequently from the sea, I have to be glad of my father's determination.

During the summer months, Douglas would become a highly popular holiday venue. As a result we used to find that in order to escape the holiday crowds, many people who lived in Douglas would come to Laxey beach. We were not the only people who found it congenial.

At Glamorgan House we were quite close to the beach. We were not very far back from the top of the cliff, down which there was a zigzag path. As youngsters we went up and down like monkeys. Our usual way was out through the back gate, by the MER stop, across a grassy area to cross the road and go through a turnstile to the zigzag.

However, as we got older we often just went over the garden wall and onto the grassy area, cutting out part of the way. Once on the beach, we could afford to stay there for most of the day because, even then, Laxey beach could boast of having public lavatories!

I suppose that there must sometimes have been bad weather, but of course one's memories of happy times are coloured in later years by blue skies and sunshine. I can remember it raining occasionlly when we were on the beach, but that was part of the fun. We loved to go swimming when it was raining and grown-ups were looking for cover.

For children there is a lot of pleasure to be had in doing things at unusual times, especially times when one would normally be in bed. One of these pleasures was mushroom picking. When I was still young Mother used to take us on such a jaunt. It entailed getting up very early in the morning with the first pale streak of dawn - to me the middle of the night.

We would walk from home to Garwick and then up to Clay Head where mushrooms were very plentiful. By that time the dawn would be giving way to the sunrise and, facing east, we would have a marvellous view of it. I doubt however, if we children really appreciated it from the aesthetic point of view. It was just wonderful to be alive and out in the dawn instead of snoozing in bed.

We would first change into our rubber bathing slippers because the grass on the headland would be soaking wet with dew. There was clearly no point in getting our sandals into the same condition. The rubber slippers were very light and no problem to carry with us.

Then came the picking. There were beautiful mushrooms to be found there and Mother must have known which were the right ones, for we never picked toadstools. We would dart around choosing the best and taking care not to step into cow pats!

With our containers filled it was then time for the trek home. I cannot remember ever feeling tired and moaning about the walk back. The whole affair was one big adventure and I loved every minute of it.

The odd thing about it is that at that time I did not like mushrooms! Once back home, they would be fried for a late breakfast and although I would not eat the mushrooms, everybody else positively drooled over them. My tastes have changed since then and now I know what I was missing.

The Island's highest mountain, Snaefell, is 2,034ft. high. Every year, without fail, we climbed it. There was the Manx Electric Mountain Railway which in the summer-time, regularly took visitors from Laxey to the summit. But that was far too tame; we much preferred to go on foot.

From Laxey there were several routes we could take. We could go by way of what was known locally as 'Ham and Egg Row' (I think because of the bed and breakfast business that was carried on there). The village of Agneash where the Lady Isabella was to be found, was then no distance at all. We regarded it as virtually round the corner.

The Lady Isabella was and is a giant water wheel. It was built to pump water out of the lead mines and was at one time the largest water wheel in Europe. Although the lead mines have been out of action for many, many years, the Isabella still keeps turning for the benefit of tourists.

There is a spiral staircase leading to a platform over the top of the wheel, from which there is a view down over the valley, and it is surprising how many people climb up there nowadays. I am sure I was not even conscious of tourism in my early childhood, so I cannot say if things are the same now as they were then.

At any rate there is no need, to-day, to leave the Wheel without sustenance. A number of people cater for visitors and there are several gardens set up with tables and chairs at the ready. Manx teas seem to be a speciality. That is afternoon tea, including buttered scones with jam and a dollop of cream on top.

I wish I could still eat them without worrying about weight! They were delicious. Mother would produce them for us when we had friends to tea and we called them 'Thunder and Lightning'. At this distance it is impossible to dismiss them without a lingering, hungry thought.

Agneash village lies virtually at the foot of the mountain. Leaving it we could follow the road for some distance but inevitably, there came a time when we had to start actually climbing - over the heather and the bilberries. Not that this was any hardship. It was all part of the enjoyment.

There was a 'hotel' - refreshment rooms really - at the top and this was also the railway terminus. But there was another short distance to go on foot in order to reach the real summit. From that point, on a clear day, it was possible to see 'the five kingdoms' - England, Ireland, Scotland and Wales - and of course the 'Kingdom of Mann' itself. It was a magnificent view.

Another route was very simple. We just followed the railway track, keeping well to one side if a train came past. There was plenty of room and no danger from live rails, as the electricity was supplied by overhead power wires. The route circled around the mountain, again giving beautiful views on the way.

Halfway up, the train crossed the mountain road and at this juncture we abandoned the railway track and climbed straight up the face to the summit, again through the heather and the bilberries. The mountain road was part of the Isle of Man T.T. Race course. It led in one direction to Ramsey and in the other to Creg Ny Baa and Windy Corner - two particularly hazardous spots on the course.

We never went to the actual Races. That was a pastime for the tourists! Snobbery! To the Manx we ourselves were merely 'come-overs' and yet we had obviously absorbed their views.

The practices were another matter, and we were always ready to forgo a day on the beach for time spent watching the motorbikes come tearing down from Windy Corner to Creg Ny Baa. The noise was horrendous but up in the hills in the fresh early morning air we did not think of it as noise. On the contrary we found it exhilirating.

Such an outing meant another early rising, round about four o'clock in the morning. We would set off from Glamorgan House up the hill (of happy pushcart memory), across the railway lines and up to the main road. On the other side of this was a minor road which led upwards to the hills and Creg Ny Baa. Well supplied with thermos flasks and sandwiches, we thought nothing of the walk which would bring us to our venue. Not to mention the walk home again afterwards.

In the early days Mother came with us on our treks. She showed us the way and made sure we were not foolhardy. Eventually, however, we were allowed to go on our own. My father acted as an official medical officer but we never went with him. We were quite independent of him and in general did not expect to be taken about by car. In fact, half the fun was in the walk and the early morning rising.

Apart from all these outdoor activities, we did, of course, spend time in the house as well. I never had comics, though later on, my brother did, but there were always books. Both our parents were avid readers and my brother and I grew up equally addicted.

We loved dressing up and would borrow Mother's clothes, especially her shoes, old curtains and various pieces of material. We then 'invited' poor Mother, and any friends who might be visiting her, to be an audience at what we called plays or concerts.

For this privilege we extracted payment - a penny or twopence. The adults were very patient. They came, apparently willingly, to the attic where we staged our performances, paid up and duly applauded our efforts.

The attic at Glamorgan House was most unusual. It was reached by its own staircase and a small landing and stretched right across the house. The two 'wings' were partially separated by the walls at the sides of the stairwell and landing. They were not totally cut off from each other however, and as the floor was completely boarded it was possible to run from one end to the other without having to go through doors.

The attic had high ceilings and big windows on both sides which made it light and airy. We could make as much noise as we liked up there - and we did. We played many rowdy games at the top of the house but as the bedrooms were between us and the ground floor, they probably did not register so noisily downstairs. Just as well. One of our pastimes in the attic was roller skating!

Our greatest love however, was undoubtedly being out of doors. All summer, we led an extremely healthy existence for my father had very firm views on the subject. He felt that children should have a natural life and not be wrapped up in cotton wool. He was convinced that in this way they built up their own immunity to germs.

And after all the Island was so beautiful. Who could want any other kind of life? So many years on, I still have a vivid mental picture of the hillsides clad in golden gorse, brilliant in the sunshine. I can still see the hedges of fuchsia with their ballet dancer blossoms swaying in the wind. I have no difficulty in recalling the schools of porpoise leaping through the water as they somersaulted across Laxey Bay.