Queen's promenade does impose itself on the sweeping bay. Rising 4 to 5 storeys high, the edge to edge hotels and boarding houses present a quite forbidding wall. They have names that give off status and class. The Savoy, the Empress, Claremont, Sefton and Ascot. They are splendidly iced cake edifices projecting from the promenade like a row of teeth. Part of the facade is called grandly the Empire Terrace.There are no concessions to it being near the seaside. No arcades flash, fast food is restricted to one fish and chip shop and where one buys a bucket and spade on this extensive sweep of coast is not obvious. To say Douglas is behind the times is an insult to this insular gem. It does remind many of some aspects Britain of the 1950s, but it is the nicer aspects and they were probably wished for again if readers of the Daily Express and Daily Mail are to be believed.
The place is clean, free of graffiti and the drivers are courteous to a point they stop as you even consider crossing at a pedestrian crossing. Although there is a MacDonalds, I cannot tell you where, but there are several mainland high street chains such as M&S, Next and TK Maxx.
The island is not time locked but showing that it can change.
It is not without its grimmer side. Ramsay, the island's second largest town has much run down property but is about to have a spanking new swimming pool. It already has one, but there is to be another one. It is being built along side some very crumbly buildings, much in the style of Douglas' seafront, but very downmarket. Seeded shrubs and weeds have established themselves in the crannies and gaps in the crumbling walls. Above the door of a former hotel cum pub, someone has placed a temporary sign calling the decaying shell of a structure "Bleak House". Perhaps its about to go, to be replaced by a further sporting and recreational structure. The town's rugby club is further along; this leads to a skateboard park and BMX circuit. Youth is clearly catered for. Its all between the coast and the pride of Ramsay - Mooragh Park.
The park reminds me immediately of parks from my child hood. Everything is there and everything is clean and orderly. There is a large boating lake surrounded by neat lawns and planted borders. A novelty putting course, complete with windmills and castles is being played on by families. Eight or nine youths are playing tennis; a round robin affair with half of them on one side of the net with the opposition the other side. Each takes it in turn to keep the rally going.
Further on, there is is a jumpers for goal posts football game, which has been temporarily stopped for a ball in the boating lake moment. One boy, possibly the culprit of the errant kick which resulted in the ball bobbing in the water, is gingerly edging himself into the water. What was heard next sums up for me the tenor of the island. The onshore discussion, by his dry friends, centred around the need for something to throw and hook over the ball. One of them ran towards the lifebuoy station. As he drew the others attention to the possibility of using this life saving equipment, his friend politely reminded him against using it by saying, "You can't use that. Its not allowed." The lifebuoy was left alone. That there were lifebuoys available was enough for me, but clearly this was a moment of faith in the younger generation, at large in public.
Apart from Ramsay, which had its charms, there is Peel. A seaside place of bliss. A castle to explore, a great sandy beach, a busy harbour landing langosutine and squat lobster, a possibility of seeing whales and dolphins and the best ice cream on the island. Port Erin has much the same, but openings to the north and south of great coast walks. Castletown, the ancient capital....... I will go again.
The islanders appear proud of their heritage and independence. The population of just over 80,000 contains only about 50% Manx born citizens. But in the the Matcham gem of a theatre, they play the anthem at the end of the performance and the audience stand and the audience sing, though not lustily, their own national anthem. In my child hood, I recall the mad dash by my parents and many of the audience from the cinema at the opening note of our national anthem.
A few years ago I went to the Isle of Arran in the waters off the Firth of Clyde. It was my first holiday in Scotland, chosen due to its claim that it was advertised as Scotland in miniature. The Isle of Man is England in miniature. Rolling lake land fells, dramatic Cornish coasts, midshires rolling farmland, villages and seaside towns and harbours. But that is where the comparison stops. Inside my head. The independent Manx mind would not have it. They are part of the British Isles only. Separate to the United Kingdom and the Great Britain, they would not allow such a comparison to be made or used to promote itself. They are Manx.
Oh , yes. Rumpies and stumpies are Manx cats. Knobs are Manx humbug.
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