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One Man’s Parish

by David Wilkinson

Winner of the Factual Article Section in the 1987 Olive Lamming Memorial Literary Competition

The Parish Walk was restored to the Manx sporting calendar in 1960, after a break of more than 30 years. Up until 1924 the event had occupied a secure place in our sporting heritage and newspaper reports date back for over 100 years, but the round of the parishes itself goes hack much farther. Some of these thoughts passed through my mind outside the Sefton Hotel at 12 o’clock on Saturday 21st June as the flag fell to begin the 1986 Parish Walk and 150 optimists, myself included, surged forward.

We had 85 miles of roads to cover to visit the 17 Parish Churches and some of us had over 20 hours of walking ahead before we would arrive back at the finishing post.

Across Finch Road, up Prospect Hill, and along Circular Road the human tide flowed. High spirits and good humour abounded and cheerful banter sparked between walkers and watchers alike.

Down Peel Road we marched, grateful for the shade provided by the chestnut trees lining the route. Within half an hour of starting we were at our first check-point at Braddan Church.

The two miles of road between Braddan and Marown Churches were hot and dusty with heavy traffic. Many walkers were now bare-backed, but wisely kept their heads and necks protected.

My raiment consisted of tee shirt and sports shirt, shorts with capacious pockets, and training shoes. I carried a sleeveless sweater, and sported a sunhat. Forty years earlier, competitors would have been dressed in tweed suits and waistcoats, hut today such accoutrements held little favour.

After Marown Church, we left the T.T. Course and set off past Marown’s palatial new school on the long trek up to the Braaid Cross Roads.

The cheerful chatter had now subsided and sonic walkers were getting their first warnings of blisters and sundry aches and pains.

Halfway to the Braaid we were presented with spectacular views over the central plain, framed by Greeha Mountain on our right. The Island looked at its very finest; there were fields full of buttercups,. the hawthorns were in full blossom, the sun was warm on my back, and only 80 miles to go.

The third church on the walk, at 11.5 miles from the start was Santan and here I calculated that I was ahead of my schedule of 15 minutes a mile.

After a short sharp climb to the Blackboards, there followed a traffic-filled mile before we reached Ballasalla and turned right at the Whitestone Hotel.

Past Rushen Abbey, over the Silverburn, through Cross Four Ways I briskly marched knowing that munificent provisions awaited me at Malew Church (15 miles). I received two jam sandwiches, an apple and a carton of orange juice. Thus victualled I enjoyed the next stage to Arbory Church and I began to overhaul some of the women walkers who had started 30 minutes ‘ahead of the men.

A colourful scene presented itself outside the Colby Glen Hotel as walkers and supporters sat in the sun taking refreshments and giving encouragement to those of us passing by. At Colby I caught up with Ralph Martin and we fell into step. It was Ralph’s support vehicle driver, Joan, who was kindly transporting my tracksuit and provisions.

The Parish Church of Rushen is just under 20 miles from the start and we reached it in under five hours. Rushen is a popular place for changing socks, treating corns and a general girding of loins’ before tackling the steep acclivities of Ballakillowey and that ‘slough of despond’ the Sloc at 1,100 feet.

Ralph and I made light work of the road to the Sloc and were able to enjoy wide views opening up to us on our right over the south-east of the Island.

We were now overtaking a number of young people who were regretting their fast early pace but though in some discomfort their morale remained high.

After the Sloc, we crossed the spine of the Island and gained our first views of the western side. We saw Peel Hill and Corrin’s Folly and there just visible in the hazy distance was Jurby Church, which, with good fortune, we should reach before midnight.

Left we turned at the Round Table cross-roads, a popular spectator spot on this fine evening though the cool air kept most watchers in their cars. As we dropped down to Juan Clarey’s Bridge, we were robbed of our views to the right by walls of conifer trees which grow quickly and obscure fine view points. As the road took us across Dalhy Mountain I was sorry to see evidence of fresh tree-planting on our left.

All walkers received hearty encouragement from those stationed outside the Ballacallin Hotel enjoying the evening sunshine and refreshments.

Ralph’s service-vehicle awaited us at Glen Maye tea-rooms hut our stop was brief.

I never pass the Raby Farm at Glen Maye without recalling how T. E. Brown took tea there and persuaded Mrs. Corrin of the need for stiles to he erected on the coastal footpath where her land meets the sea. T. E. B. would have been a likely contestant for the Parish Walk as his enjoyment of walking is quite obvious from a perssal of his book of Collected Letters.

Patrick Church is 30 miles, and Ralph and I reached it right on my schedule. By now the race leaders would be well on their way to Kirk Michael and we relied on their falling by the wayside.

The walk from Patrick to Peel is the shortest stretch between any two churches on the route and 8 p.m. saw us at the gate of the Cathedral - 32 miles completed.

The Peel checkpoint was part carnival. part field-hospital. Here was the finishing line for the women’s and veteran men’s races and walkers, friends and supporters some supine some seated on walls and pavements cheered on competitors as they arrived. Ralph and I didn’t ;linger, our cards stamped we took the coast road out of the western city.

On leaving Peel we passed the former home of writer Richard Adams at Knocksharry. His memories of the Island are retold in his recently published ‘Nature Diary’ and I recognised his house from a sketch in the book..

The ‘Parish’ was turning into a literary walk with associations of Betjeman at St. James’ Dalby which he esteemed; T. E. Brown at Glen Maye; and Knockaloe in Patrick where Hall Cain had set his novel and whose grave we would pass at Maughold.

These literary cogitations had brought us to the ‘Devil’s Elbow’ where Joan was doing her meals on wheels service.The evening was noticeably colder and we realised that we would need to put on warmer clothing before long.

Kirk Michael Church (39 miles) saw us don tracksuits and with a block of chocolate in my pocket I felt that the serious work now began. Apart from my companion there were no other walkers to be seen and the motor traffic had become non-existant.

The tower of Ballaugh Church was visible across The fenlands soon after we left Kirk Michael hut the road took many deviations before we crossed Ballaugh Bridge and turned sharp left to leave the T.T. Course. At Ballaugh Church (42 miles) we were given reflective strips to pin to our clothing and sent upon our way.

Dusk fell gently, lights appeared in windows of farm houses and cattle stood silhouetted against a clear northern sky. There was no traffic and the only sound to be heard was the sigh of the wind in the long grasses on the hedges, and away in the distance the call of a curlew. I could just see the time on my watch in the gloom and I was delighted to be able to tell Ralph that it was 10.30 pm – we were more than half-way!

The cold wind was now in our faces and Ralph’s cheerful confidence began to evaporate as time passed and there was no sign of the tower of Jurby Church. It was when we were discussing the possibility of our having taken a wrong turning that there, close on our left, appeared die Church (45 miles).

The Church itself is at the end of a long drive and on the end of a bright torch beam our cards were punched by fellow Castletownian Walter Kennaugh. -He was to spend a long cold night away from the civilised comforts of the ancient capital. Walter epitomised the spirit of the event and many others like him all round the course were giving of their own free time at all hours of the day and night.

As we retraced our steps to the main road from the Church, ahead of us in the east, finding a break in the cloud, rode a full moon.

Early on the 7 mile stretch to Bride Church (52 miles) it was clear that Ralph’s pace had slowed and a gap opened between us as we settled into our own paces. I had finished my chocolate and was now dipping into a packet of nuts which I had in a pocket. Joan would appear at intervals out of the darkness and was aware of Ralph’s leg trouble.

I felt in good shape and fortunately remained free of any problems. I had carried out no special training for the Parish’, but I did regularly take part in race~walking events and enjoyed walking for pleasure. I had completed the ‘Millennium Way’ a number of times and most weekends in the summer I try to cover about 20 miles over the Marx hills and coastline for pleasure mid exercise.

On reaching the Lhen Trench I knew I was half-way to Bride and that the terrain would soon become more undulating. Though the wind still blew it now carried the scents of hawthorn and honeysuckle from the nearby fields arid hedges. It was on the approach to Bride that Ralph, who was about 30 yards behind me, called out that he could go no further. I went back and found him suffering firm leg pains but insisting that I carry on to Bride and alert Joan. I left him sitting beside the road; he had given everything, but his legs had said enough”. He had walked over 50 miles at his first attempt and he retired with full honours.

From Bride to Andreas Church (55 miles) the wind was at my back, the roads were flat and well-surfaced and I walked comfortably on automatic pilot’. I was guided to Andreas Village by a beacon in the form of a flashing ‘zebra’ crossing.

Andreas Church is reached from the main road by way of a narrow rutted lane overhung with trees and shrubs. To the end of this tunnel of darkness I was drawn by a ‘dim religious light’, and there my card was stamped and I was told that there were three more walkers not far ahead of me. In my enjoyment of the pleasures of the walk, I had tended to forget that I was taking part in a race.

About half an hoar after leaving Andreas I sensed more than saw that there were walkers ahead. First I came upon a competitor I knew, and in front of him were three more walkers with a small child trotting along beside them. Being quite happy walking on my own I increased my speed, and with a cheerful “good morning from my fellow travellers, I went by.

Three in the morning and all was well; I had covered about 60 miles yet I felt as well as at any time in the race. I hadn’t seen the moon since Jurby but I felt confident that I was on the right road leading to Sulby Bridge where I would again join the T.T. Course.

When eventually Sulby Bridge did materialize it confirmed that dawn was breaking. A cold grey day revealed itself as I headed for the next cheek-point at Lezayre. For the first time my lack of sleep began to catch up with me and when passing somnolent houses, I became just a little envious of the persons slumbering therein, and yet I still had over 20 arduous miles to go.

It was head wind again for the two miles to Lezayre Church (62 miles) which is situated in a loop off the main road. The card-marker, who happened to live beside the Church kindly offered me a drink - I gratefully accepted. As he opened the side door of his house to get me the refreshments, a cat followed by three kittens appeared from nowhere arid darted into the house. I was pleased to learn that I was in the top ten in the race and that there was another walker only ten minutes ahead of me. I went past him at Sky Hill; he looked very weary.

Before Ramsey Grammar School was reached I heard, somewhere away to my right, the first bird-call of the day.

I didn’t recognise it but felt that if it were a mocking-birdit would be quite appropriate.

There was daylight of a poor quality by Ramsey and nothing stirred. I passed briskly through the town of skyscrapers and Victoriana.

Maughold Church was my next objective, via Port Vullen and the coast road. Though physically sound was feeling rather washed-out and the road to Maughold seemed unending. Often when I expected the Church to appear round the next bend I was disappointed. But what was this ahead  I saw another competitor with a distinctive style of perambulation much akin to that of one John Wright -and he it was, and also, There down the hill was Maugliold Church, sixty-seven miles completed.

In step with John tackled the long climb from the Church up through Ballajora and back towards Ramsey to eventually join the main road at the Hibernian. Strangely, I was now finding inclines and declines no different in effort required.

Though I hadn’t eaten for hours I was not hungry, but was grateful for the excellent Vimto cordial which John’s service vehicle provided.

From the Hibernian to the next church at Lonan (79 miles) was about 9 miles and we settled down to a speed which made the mile-posts appear at regular 15 minute intervals.

I now felt more awake than I had felt two or three hours earlier especially since ‘intelligence-reports’ told us that there were two more competitors not far ahead. The wind was flow behind us and a grey choppy sea lay to our left. I still wore my full track-suit and woolly hat, yet didn’t feel very warm.

It was as we approached Laxey that we overhauled two more walkers moving slowly but cheerfully, determined to finish the race. We wished them well and marched past knowing that we were now in the first five.

Lonan Church required us to leave the main road and make a frustrating detour into the foot-hills above South Cape before retracing our steps and getting hack to the place where we were twenty-five minutes before.

Only seven miles to go, John and I walked in unison, few words spoken. Citizens of Lonan, churchward bound, were startled to see two tramps or vagabonds passing; unkempt, unshaven, eyes staring straight ahead, and dreaming of hot baths and rest.

On the approach to Onchan Joan gave us a report on how the race was progressing overall. It was galling to realize that the winner had finished over three hours ag, yet John and I occupied joint fourth position.

Down Whitebridge, climb up the other side, into Onchan, avoid holes dug in the road by Highway Board, turn left at Church Road – not far to go now.

Onchan Parish Church saw two grateful pilgrims touch its gates and agree that they would finish the race together rather than compete to cross the line first. Royal Avenue and Port Jack were trod underfoot and there, only a mile away along the Promenade, was the War Memorial and the finishing post. We were alone with our thoughts on the final stretch thinking hack on our previous 84 miles, almost sorry in a way that it was over and wondering if my legs would stop for me or would they just carry on walking.

John and I crossed the line together at 08.42 hours on Sunday 22nd June in joint fourth position. My legs not only responded to my orders to stop but seemed quite relieved to obey. I was delighted to have completed the full course and I spontaneously uttered those heartfelt words beloved of all Parish finishers - “Never again.”.

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