Ramsey and the North, through my eyes.

 Of course, returning to the Isle of Man meant returning to my home town as well. Ramsey lies on the TT course, and like the capital Douglas, it is an important harbour town for the island, with freight coming and going every day through the busy port with its famous swing bridge. Built in 1892 the bridge swings to allow shipping and pleasure craft to enter and leave the upper harbour area. When closed, road traffic and pedestrians can use it to take a short cut to the Northern promenade of the town. The rising sea levels and hotter summers have become an issue in recent years, but she still looks beautiful.

My dad keeps his boat in that very same harbour. He was away sailing when we arrived; both he and my son Jiffy tend to avoid the TT races and the crowds they bring, preferring instead to slip away by sea when the island gets busy.

It was good to be back and revisit the town. It felt very small after twelve years in New Zealand — something I hadn’t really noticed while wandering around Douglas. Many of the shops along the small main street were not just closed, but gone entirely, with buildings demolished and empty spaces where they once stood. Though some had received a face lift. 

Some things, though, don’t change. We took more than one walk along the North Promenade 

and around the lake in the park — familiar paths that still feel like Ramsey at its heart.

Someone had also been busy with a paintbrush in recent years, adding new artworks around the town. Not as grand as the painted silos you might find in Australia, but still a lovely surprise to come across while walking.

I'll talk more about these lovely art works in another post. They deserve a place of their own.

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Another place I was keen to revisit was the Point of Ayre — the most northerly point of the island. I spent many childhood summers off the island, sailing with dad up through the Scottish islands, this was a familiar sight and told me I was nearly home.

The tall lighthouse there once stood right at the water’s edge, but the island is still growing, and the “Winkie” light was later built to reflect that change. 

Poo thing could do with a coat of paint. Even now, the land continues to extend, and Winkie is no longer quite as close to the sea as it once was.

Both lights still shine out at night, guiding shipping safely around the island, though modern technology now means there is less need for additional lights than there once was.

Something that is no longer in use, but still very much part of the landscape at the Ayres, is the foghorn. I can still remember it from my childhood — When fog surrounded the island and the lighthouses couldn't be seen the foghorn boomed out its warning across the water and across much of the north of the island.

It was good to revisit the Ayres, even if we were nearly blown away by the strong winds, that no photo can capture. 

Those winds became a bit of a theme. 

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One lovely surprise while visiting Ramsey was discovering an old friend.

A Little history.

Massimo came from Italy to the island to work for a summer, like many do — and, like quite a few, he ended up staying. I first met him in his first summer on the island, when I was about 18. He was working as a waiter in one of the hotels in Ramsey. He would appear here and there over the years; we were never close friends, more acquaintances who crossed paths from time to time.

A few years before Tony and I left the island, Massimo reappeared, this time working in a small restaurant quite close to our home, Mamma Mia. It was a lovely little Italian place, and of course we became regulars. We learned that Mas and some of his colleagues had been on loan from another restaurant in Laxey, helping to set up the new venture and get it running smoothly.

When Mas eventually returned to his role in Laxey, at La Mona Lisa, we followed — finding yet another Italian restaurant with familiar faces and good food.

Back to present day. One evening while wandering around Ramsey and wondering where to eat before meeting friends, we noticed a new-to-us Italian restaurant. Ravioli House. We stopped to look at the menu in the window, and Tony happened to glance up at the name above the door.

Massimo Di Marco.

There can only be one… surely.

We went in, and were greeted with smiles and a welcome like old friends. Mas had finally achieved his dream of owning his own place.

The restaurant serves a mix of traditional Manx dishes alongside classic Italian food. And on one occasion, when Tony mentioned a dish that wasn’t on the menu, Mas simply asked his chef to make it specially — Pollo Milanese.

I opted for a Manx favourite instead: queenies and bacon in a garlic sauce served with a crusty roll to soak up that beautiful buttery sauce..

Those Queen Scallops were probably caught by my boy, Jiffy Jonathan. 

We returned to visit Mas and eat in his restaurant two more times during our stay. 

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Of course, there is much more to Ramsey than I’ve written here.

I could have taken a walk up to Albert Tower, built on the spot above the town where Prince Albert once stood during the visit to “Royal Ramsey” in 1847. I'm unsure if Queen Victoria joined him on the walk through Elfin glen and the woods. It's a steep climb in places. 

The Iron or Queen’s Pier stretches out into Ramsey Bay as if trying to reach Cumbria in England. Construction began in 1882 and it opened in 1886. Sadly, it was left to decline over time and had become quite dilapidated by the time I left the island, eventually being closed to the public. It is now, however, undergoing restoration, which is wonderful to see. I didn’t manage to visit or take photos on this trip, but I do follow its progress on Facebook. As a child, I remember walking along it and riding the little train that ran to and from the very end.

Ramsey also has a small museum, quietly reflecting its rural past and way of life.

Mooragh Park was once part of a very wet river delta, later drained by the Victorians to create the park we know today. It now offers beautiful walks around the lake, a children’s play area, and boating in the summer months — a space that has clearly grown and adapted over time, while still remaining at the heart of the town.

Ramsey felt smaller than I remembered after twelve years away, and yet in other ways it felt unchanged — still holding onto its familiar rhythms, its harbour life, and the same paths along the North Prom and around the lake.

There is something quietly grounding about returning to a place like that. You don’t step back into exactly the same town you left, but you do find pieces of it still waiting for you — in the streets, in the views, and sometimes in the most unexpected of encounters.

Time to leave Ramsey behind and move on to another part of the island....

Douglas through my eyes.

 Although it was supposedly late spring early summer when we arrived on the island, the weather was very much a typical Manx mix — everything from beautiful sunshine 

to thick fog 

and torrential rain arriving in no particular order. 

Oh and just plain grey overcast days too. 

I made the best of it, of course, and got out for walks whenever I could.

I lived most of my life in Ramsey in the north, 

but during this visit we stayed with my brother and his wife in Douglas, the capital. I know Ramsey far better, so it was rather lovely — and slightly strange — to rediscover Douglas after more than 12 years away.

One of my favourite places to walk was Douglas Promenade. 

I made a point of walking there several times during our stay; it’s a wonderful stretch for wandering, with the sea always doing something different every time you look at it.

On one of those walks, I came across a new-to-me sculpture. Did you know the Bee Gees were born on the Isle of Man? 

This sculpture was installed after I left the island, but I knew I would come across it.

A very familiar sight, though, was the Tower of Refuge sitting out on Conister Rock.

You can read more about that little tower and its history here. 

There are so many other memories along the promenade too: the horse drawn trams, 

I always loved to see the horses pulling their load along the prom. Don't worry, they are the most spoiled rotten horses that ever lived. They are only allowed to make so many pulls a day, then back to the stables before being walked up to their paddock to rest. They retire to the Home of Rest for old horses where the spoiling continues. Such beautiful and lucky animals. 

Other familiar sights include the Jubilee Clock which was installed to celebrate Queen Victorias Golden Jubilee.

The sunken gardens. 

In the island’s heyday as a tourist destination, these gardens would have been full of visitors enjoying a break from the cool easterly breezes. 

They’re still there today, though used more quietly. With rising sea levels and wilder storms, they really do become sunken gardens in winter when flooding takes over 

it was good to see them restored again for the summer months.

One walk I was determined to do was through Summerhill Glen. 

It begins on the promenade and winds its way uphill towards the TT course. I used to love walking it — either up or down — the paths twisting this way and that through trees and greenery.

The paths always had pretty lights strung along them, and while I noticed there is more lighting now, I’m not entirely sure I agree with all of it. I think I still prefer the simpler, softer lighting from before.

 Visiting in the daytime, though, I enjoyed the wildflowers and trees and the sound of water tumbling down the streams just as much as I remembered. There were some new sculptures too. It was nice to revisit this beautiful spot.

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One thing that really caught my eye one day while walking was a sign I hadn’t noticed before… 

well, I never knew!

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Of course, there is much more to Douglas than a single blogpost can capture. It remains one of the island’s two main arrival points, where ferries bring passengers in from England and Ireland, as they always have. Back in the day there were also regular sailings Wales and Scotland, and several other ports around the Irish Sea. Sitting right in the heart of the British Isles, the island has long been well connected, even if those links have changed over time.

There is a lovely museum in Douglas that tells the story of the island’s past, and it is well worth a visit for anyone wanting to understand a little more of its history and character.

Strand Street, the main shopping area, hasn’t changed all that much. Many of the same shops are still there twelve years on, alongside a few newer additions, but it still feels familiar.

The electric tram still leaves from the promenade and heads north towards Laxey and beyond, a reminder of the island’s enduring traditions of transport and tourism. The steam railway, departing from the south of town, and certainly deserves a mention in its own right another time.

Coming back after so many years away, I was struck by how much felt unchanged, and yet how much time has quietly moved on all the same. It was a pleasure to rediscover Douglas — familiar in feeling, but different in detail — and to see it again through new eyes.

I hope you’ve enjoyed seeing Douglas through mine.

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Handmade with Love.

 

Anchor Me

As you know, I made and took two very large quilts with me on our trip — one in my case and one in Tony’s. You know the stories behind them, but a quick recap won’t hurt.

The idea for the first quilt came about as a wedding gift for Jiffy (Jonathan) and his intended Josie. I wanted something that spoke of the sea, as Jiffy is a fisherman and spends a lot of time on the water. Josie’s favourite colour is green, so that had to be incorporated too. Jiffy, of course, would be happy with anything his mum made and sent with love.

I showed them a few ideas and an anchor quilt was selected. I didn’t promise an exact copy, but something in that direction.

I pulled greeny-blue batiks from my collection, and in April of last year, while we were in Australia for Scrub Stitchin’, Janice kindly took me to an amazing shop with a wonderful collection of batiks. A large selection of fat quarters was added to the project that day. LOL

Over the following months I was often asked if I had started yet. When I finally did make a start, I kept you all updated on the blog and you all cheered me along.

Eventually I had a quilt top — but it still needed an anchor, and things stalled a little.

Then one day it all just happened. I played with pencil and paper, made a template I liked, and cut the fabric. An anchor was born.

I wanted to keep the quilting simple and watery — which I did.

And here it is: 

Anchor Me. 

Josie particularly loved the idea of “being anchored together” when we were planning it.

As you know, when we arrived on the island, Jiffy was away sailing with my dad, so we had to wait a whole week for his return. When they finally came back, we were on the harbourside waiting for them — I already shared that moment with you. Josie was there too, waiting.

The very next day we returned to Ramsey with the quilt. I had put Tony in charge of taking pictures… please… so he made a video! 

Sigh!  

He did eventually pick out a couple of good still shots from it yesterday.

I think they both like their new quilt. And I do hope it anchors them together, happily, for the rest of their lives.

I thought when I left the island 12 years ago that Jiffy would be the child I would have to worry about. But just as we were planning to leave, he introduced me to Josie. I felt good about her — something told me he would be okay with her at his side.

And he has been.

They are good together, and they now have two beautiful children.

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Fynoderee's Fields

The other quilt, as you know, was also made using batiks. I told you the story behind Fynoderee's Fields in an earlier post.

Look here for a reminder.

Kaiy had left the island before we did and was living in Birmingham with her husband. They were planning to return to the Isle of Man for the wedding, so I thought it would be lovely to make a new quilt for her as well.

Life, as it often does, had become rather complicated for Kaiy in the weeks leading up to our trip. I'll leave that story for another day. This post is about quilts and smiles.

Kaiy arrived back on the island a few days after her brother returned. Tony and I also got to meet Faith again. The last time we'd seen her she was just nine months old, so that was rather special.

A few days later we finally managed to arrange a time to meet up and hand over the quilt.

I don't think I need many words here.

I think the smiles say it all.

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Every stitch in these quilts was sewn with love, every fabric carefully chosen, every hour happily spent thinking about the people who would one day wrap themselves in them.

The journey from my sewing room in Timaru to their new homes on the Isle of Man wasn't without its challenges, but seeing them finally wrapped around the people I love made every moment worthwhile.

An Unexpected Reunion.

 An unexpected reunion on our return to the island was an old school friend. I’ll tell you the story, and maybe you’ll understand why Sharon believes our meeting was meant to be.

About 15-ish years ago, I went off tea. I used to love tea — I lived on the stuff — and then suddenly it just started to taste wrong. No matter what I tried, more milk, less milk, more sugar, less sugar, different varieties, even lemon… nothing worked. It still tasted like sticks. I was just off tea.

I’ve since learned, or come to understand, that it was all linked to hormones and menopause.

Anyway, about five or six months ago I tried again, and guess what? I liked it! But only out of a teapot. No dunking a bag into a cup — no, it has to come out of a teapot… even though I still dunk the bag in that. LOL

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The teapot that started it all

While I was browsing an Isle of Man website before our visit, I saw a beautiful teapot with Celtic designs on it. I wanted that pot. I was determined to find it and bring it home.

In our first week on the island, I hunted through many souvenir shops and likely places, but I didn’t see it. I turned to the internet and found the suppliers instead. I contacted them via their “Contact Us” page and received a lovely, very helpful response.

And here’s the thing… I recognised the name on the email.

So I replied and told him who I was 50 years ago — my maiden name, my then nickname — and asked if he remembered me. I also mentioned I had gone to school with his niece but had lost touch.

He did remember me, and he gave me her number.

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Sharon

Sharon and I were in the same school intake when we were four years old. We stayed friends all the way through school, spent weekends and holidays together — we were inseparable.

And then somehow, within two years of leaving school on a small island, we lost touch.

I have tried to find her over the years, even as recently as 6-7 years ago, I looked on facebook.  But never could find her and eventually gave up.

And now suddenly… I had her phone number.

I was so excited I quickly sent a message, and within five minutes I had a reply. We arranged to meet at a coffee shop the next day.

We talked and talked and talked. We sat there for four hours!

Then, because the fire alarm went off in the café, we had to leave, not wanting to part ways yet, we walked along the promenade in the sunshine, still talking. We remembered school days, homework, younger siblings, and old adventures.

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And then the teapot…

Our walk took us past a gift shop, and what should be in the window? The very teapot I had been looking for. 

It turns out Sharon lives just a couple of streets away from my brother. We headed up the hill together, and hugged on the corner, promising to meet again before I returned to New Zealand.

We quickly snapped a selfie — there was no one around to help us. 

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Meant to be?

Sharon, of course, wasn’t on holiday, so between family and work commitments we only managed one more meeting before I left. But again, we slipped straight back into conversation as if no time had passed at all.

Forty years is a long time to catch up on… but somehow, it didn’t feel difficult.

I told her about going off tea and then finding my way back to it, and how I had originally been searching for a teapot and ended up finding her uncle instead.

That’s when she said it:

“It was meant to be, Lou. It was meant to be.”

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A final twist

There was another small twist that felt like a sign.

A day or two before I sent that email, Tony and I had been to Ramsey, my old home town, visiting an elderly friend. She had moved house, but we tracked her down to a building that used to be the Prince of Wales Hotel, it's now converted into apartments. 

Back in my childhood, it was owned and run by Sharon’s grandparents. Sitting in Edna's front room catching up with her brought back memories of that very same room, I remember going behind the bar for fizzy drinks and crisps and running across the road to the beach afterwards. On rainy days we’d play in empty rooms or in the guest lounge.

That’s also where I first met Sharon’s uncle, who would gently tease me and call me “Spennylegs” — a nickname his brother (Sharon’s father) had given me.

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Sharon does have a Facebook account, created only a few years ago and hardly used, but she now has Messenger on her phone and we’ve promised to stay in touch.

Maybe it was meant to be.

I sure hope so.

Getting there....

 As I'm sure you know, Tony and I have been away for a few weeks. Our long-awaited trip to the Isle of Man has now been and gone.

It was a very emotional trip, with many wanders down memory lane. Far too much happened to squeeze it all into one blog post, so here is the first of several.

We left Timaru on Saturday lunchtime. The sun was shining – what a beautiful start to the trip.

We flew from Christchurch to Sydney, then onwards to Dubai aboard an Airbus A380. It is a truly enormous aircraft, making the Sydney to Dubai flight in about 14 hours.

We had a long layover in Dubai – 20 hours on the ground. Emirates gifted us a complimentary hotel room and meal so that we could freshen up and get some sleep. What a wonderful thing to do.

We certainly tried to sleep, but it just wasn't happening. Instead, we decided to head out and explore a little.

One of the cabin crew had suggested Dubai Mall, easily reached by metro. Out we stepped into 44°C heat!

Phew... it was hot.

Luckily, the metro station was only an eight-minute walk from the hotel. It was blissful to be back inside in the air conditioning. After only a short wait, the next train arrived. It cost us pennies to make the 35-minute journey to the Burj Khalifa station.

From there we took a 15-minute walk through air-conditioned tunnels to the shopping mall. Looking out of the windows along the way, I was struck by just how clean the city is. Not just the city itself, but the metro stations, the trains, the tunnels, the mall... everything was spotlessly clean and maintained at a wonderfully comfortable temperature.

The mall itself was vast. That may be perfectly normal for some people, but for a Manx/Kiwi like me, whose experience has mostly been of much smaller places, it was quite a culture shock.

Arriving fairly early in the day, many of the shops were only just opening. Cafés were setting up for breakfast and brunch. I was fascinated by some of the clientele.

We wandered around simply taking it all in.

The UAE may be a desert nation, but it certainly isn't short of water. Everywhere we looked there were beautiful water features. I imagine they also help cool the surrounding air.

Look at how tiny those people are at the bottom of the waterfall.

This tea shop completely fascinated me. Who knew there were so many different kinds of tea?

I'd read somewhere that there was an aquarium in the mall, and sure enough, we found it.

We didn't even need to pay to see the fish. A huge three-story-high wall of glass lets shoppers peer into an enormous aquarium... right there, opposite The Cheesecake Factory.

Guess where we stopped for an early lunch?

After eating a huge meal, I wandered back to the aquarium and took far too many photos. I was determined to get a decent picture of this fellow.

We also spotted another rather interesting group of people enjoying brunch at one of the cafés.

On our way back to the metro station we spotted a very familiar name...

Marks & Spencer.

Back at the hotel we again failed to sleep for more than an hour. Jet lag clearly had other ideas for us.

So, after activating our complimentary SIM cards, Tony did all the technical wizardry and set up a hotspot from the phone so we could connect a laptop and cast a movie to the hotel TV. Before long we were properly settled in, watching Netflix and trying to get in another snooze.

We stayed there until it was time for supper, a ride back to the airport, and yet another flight on our way to the Isle of Man.

This time we flew on a smaller Boeing 777 to Manchester, where it was cool and damp – quite a contrast to Dubai!

Once there we managed to get ourselves onto an earlier flight to the Isle of Man. We had originally been booked on the 5.40 p.m. flight but instead managed to leave around lunchtime.

It turned out to be a very good decision.

Fog had settled around the island and several flights had already been unable to land, returning to where they had come from instead.

The flight we eventually boarded had left Glasgow half empty, so it was diverted to Manchester to collect more passengers rather than have two half-empty aircraft flying the same route.

Normally, the flight to the Isle of Man takes about 40 minutes.

Ours took just 25.

There was still plenty of fog, but our pilot found a hole in it... and dropped us neatly through.

We were the last plane to land that day as the fog became thicker. 

My brother Andy and his wife Angie were there to meet us.

All of our luggage wasn't.

Tony's suitcase had somehow decided to stay behind in Manchester. Thankfully, it caught up with us the following day.

Did I mention that it is now Monday lunchtime on the Isle of Man, so Almost midnight, Monday in New Zealand?

I have to say, after twelve years of living in New Zealand, the Isle of Man's roads felt incredibly narrow!

I’ll be back soon with another instalment. It may not be the most exciting read for everyone, but I do like to keep a record of our journey for us to look back on.

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