Well folks, this week will see the kids on holiday from the schools for the long summer holidays. As a kid, this time of year was pure magic for me. Just the idea of coming home from school in Liverpool for two whole months sent the blood pulsing through my veins. Long before my shoes touched the timber deck of the Isle of Man steamers, my head would be full of thoughts of the beach, Langness, romping along the Silverbur River, and chasing balls and tin cans during the evenings through Castletown’s narrow streets. On wet nights we didn’t argue about what channel to watch on the telly as there were only two channels, BBC and ITV, and as far as we kids were concerned, both were rubbish. We did listen to the wireless, but only at night time, to radio Luxembourg. Manx Radio didn’t exist, so how did we get our news or skeet? Well, I suppose we made most of it up. The rumour mill was going big time then. Jim Callaghan the former British Prime minister once said, “A lie is halfway round the World before the truth has got its boot on.” Well in our case in Castletown, a lie had circumnavigated the World three times before the truth had got out of bed. Most rumours began in the shops. Someone would tell a porkie in the butchers, forgive the pun, the lie would make its way over to the bakers, down the street to Kelly’s hardware shop, in to the post office, then back up the street and begin all over again. Each time someone would put a little extra spin on it. If it began in the butchers with how Mrs Quayle had slipped whist putting out the washing and scratched her nose, by the time the rumour had done the rounds, Mrs Quayle might well be on her way to Malew graveyard having committed suicide by flinging herself off the cliffs at Scarlett. The pub was also another ideal place to plant a rumour. I can tell you that Jesus is not the only person to rise from the dead. A lady in Castletown did this also back in the early 70’s. I recall one Friday night sitting in the Duck’s Nest, my local pub. Someone came in and told us that Maud had died. We all knew Maud; she was one of our locals. Of course we dug in to our pockets and raised a small amount in the collection that ensued. I recall vividly the hush that came over the busy pub on that Friday night as Maud walked in to the pub. Of course she noticed the pittance that was in the collection box so, feeling sorry for the poor devil we were collecting for; she placed a few pence in the box. Our relationship with Maud remained a little strained thereafter, once she realized the collection was for her. I’m not sure who it was that blabbed and let the cat out of the bag though. It was decided that we should all have a drink from the proceeds, but I think there was only enough for about one pint. Anyway I’m sure we will have more than made up for it when Maud finally did pass away, Well, I would like to think so!

I am going to finish now folks before I get in to any deeper trouble. I am of course Tom Glassey for news where time doesn’t matter, on the banks of the Silverburn River.