THESE FOREIGNERS

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXIX, Issue 21248, 30 July 1932, Page 1 (Supplement)

THESE FOREIGNERS

A NEW ZEALANDER ABROAD

BY CKREDIG RICHARDS

" I'm afraid it's foreign butter. It comes, from New Zealand or Australia or one of them places." The little shopkeeper waved his ragged apron at a passing fly and smiled apologetically. " Mind you, 1 don't say it's not best quality, but it's not our own product and that's what wo mostly sell here," he continued. He nodded to a large placard in the window bearing a familiar slogan but with a changed force in an additional line: "Buy British—Preferably Manx." For this was on the Isle of Man, that astonishing little self-governing colony right in tho heart of the Empire, a tiny dot in the Irish Sea midway between Liverpool and Dublin. Although clinging to England for protection and a living and sharing many common problems, the island keeps proud independence in spirit. Manxmen and their products come first, then English, then " foreign parts," including other units of tho Empire. New Zealand could learn much from the Isle of Man of how to be prosperous in the midst of depression. Depression? The islanders won't admit such a word exists in the Manx language, that strange survival of a Celtic tongue closely allied to Welsh. Their national income has fallen sharply but a policy of keeping money in the country where possible is bearing sturdy fruit Unemployed are few; rates and taxes heavy enough but small compared to those " across " in England; Picturesque Island The island is largely pastoral, with its own butter, milk, meat and fish. Wealth flows in every year from thousands of holiday makers from the British Isles. Every second building in Douglas, chief town of the island, is a hotel, and the remainder take in boarders as 'a sideline. It is a picturesque place with an interesting old-world history but with its beauty owned by syndicates and well guarded with penny turnstiles and toll gates. The ruins of Peel Castle hide the grave of a legendary three-legged giant, motif of the island's coat-of-arms; Onchan shows an old whipping post in the churchyard, also a tombstone of 1832 " Martha Can, alias McCutcheon, alias Scott," evidently a much-married woman. There is a stir in Douglas. Warring factions apparently are engaged in a fierce bombardment along the Promenade. Investigation shows, however, it is hundreds of motor-cycles with explosive exhausts rushing up and down the hilly streets. It is early June, when the world's best riders gather at the Isle of Man for the annual blue riband event of motorcycle racing, the Tourist Trophy road contests. It is even busier up at the grandstands, where competitors are wheeling their hundred-mile-an-'hour mounts into the checker-board starting arena. Spectators by the thousand from every corner of the universe strain their necks in "the effort of watching many happenings at once. Flags of all nations flutter in the brisk breeze of a bright spring morning. Finally a giant Voice announces through loud speakers that all is ready, that the road is in better condition that ever before and that there are as many entries as usual " in spite of the depression." (That phrase again! Is there no escape anywhere in the world ?) " This year," continues the Voice, " there is an exceptionally large number of foreigners competing, including threo from Czecho-Slovakia, one from Switzerland, one from Belgium and two from New Zealand." I retort in my best American—" Sez you." But that, actually, is the point of view of the people of Man. Right from early days when one King Orry, " admiral of five-and-fifty keels," sailed over from Denmark and took forcible possession, the island has proclaimed independence in Government though still a loyal member of the British Empire. A Distinct People Tho landlady was plump, middle-aged and talkative. " Oh, ves". We Manx people are a different race from the English and it's proud we are of our freedom. Mind you, there's many a man calling himself one of us who's no moro a real Manxman than you are." I lent polite interest. " There's that Sir Hall Caino all you people ask about. Ho was born in Liverpool" lie wasn't, but she thought she knew— " came over here on one of them day excursions and liked our island so much he wrote books about it. He boughC Greeba Castle, out Glen Helen way, but was always rushing off to Switzerland to write stories about the Isle of Man as though lie was a real Manxman." The plump landlady and her equally plump married daughter mado loud noises of disgust. I looked shocked in sympathy. This was indeed a new light on tho late Sir Hall Caine's writings. " He was a funny little man with long hair like a poet's sprouting out from under his hat. He had the face and figure for a fairy and carried a stick like a wand. A mean man, though, for all his bags of money. " Nobody here cared for him or 'his books." The landlady fanned herself with podgy hand. " They didn't like the women he put in his stories. They do say they were, not a tiny bit like the real people of Man. When lie died tho papers said the whole island was in mourning but it really didn't seem to make a scrap of difference, as I said to the milkman next morning. There wasn't a blind drawn in the wholo of Douglas and cars kept driving up and down the Prom, as the funeral wont along." Times Change There was a time when Manxmen only were found on Man, but now others were settling there to benefit from low taxation. Even Manx kippers came now " from over Ireland way" and the meat " was in big lumps of ice." " But," I suggested consolingly, " you still have your Manx cats. No other country can imitate them." She shook her head. " There's not 60 many of them left here, for people won't be bothered with rearing them. Hundreds have gone abroad to Liverpool and those places. Last year a man from India took one. It was a shanve to send the little thing all that way, but you can't blame him for wanting one. ' Runipy ' cats are so much better than those with tails to get stood on or caught in doors." My bag was packed. Tho ship would sail for Liverpool in half-an-hour. " T feel sometimes I'd like to travel myself," confided the plump married daughter. " I've been 'across,' of course, twice to Liverpool and once to Blackpool —that's sixty miles each way. I'd like to seo London some time if it- didn't mean staying away overnight. I can't sleep if I'm not at home. " But I don't suppose that, troubles you foreigners—you're always travelling."