City and Suburban
BY JOHN BETJEMAN WHENEVER an English monarch visits the Isle of Man, a mist hangs over the island. The late King had to be diverted from Douglas, where he was expected to land. I write this while the 'Queen is on the high seas, and have telephoned to the Isle of Man Tourist Office, that friendly haven in Trafalgar Square, to find out whether the Manxmen expect a mist. They do, and alternative landing arrangements have been made at Peel and Port St. Mary. It has long been my ambition to be made Lieutenant-Governor of the Isle of Man, that most beautiful and varied of our islands, with its own laws and licensing hours. I would live in the Governor's fine house above Douglas Bay, the Naples of the North, with a nice motor-car and a salary of £3,000, and once a year I would sit on the grassy Tynwald Mound on St. John the Baptist's Day and hear the laws recited in Manx and English. The rest of the time I would visit the churches, dance halls and wild cliffs and valleys, travel on the trains and trams, and read Hall Caine and T. E. Brown in the evenings. As almost all the native Manx names begin with a C or K, I would change my name to Ewan Quetjeman and work for Manx Independence. With these happy ideas in mind, I telephoned to the Home Office this morning and offered my services. They were not accepted, and I was told that the Lieutenant-Governor was also head of the Manx Police and was Chancellor of the Exchequer, and was kept busy. I would sever the island's connections with the Home Office if the post were offered to me.
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