A report is in Nomima 24, 101–102.
| Saturday 7 April 2001 | Excursion to Castletown |
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| train in Douglas station | delegates head for the train |
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| Castletown - Castle Rushen and harbour | Old Grammar School in Castletown |
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| Looking out to sea | The 'Peggy' Museum in Castletown |
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| Castletown harbour | Steam engine back in Douglas station |
| Sunday 8 April 2001 | Visit to Manx crosses. |
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| Crosses in Maughold Churchyard | Crowding in to look at the crosses |
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| View from Maughold churchyard | Keeils in Maughold churchyard |
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| Keeils in Maughold churchyard | Keeils in Maughold churchyard |
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| Carved stones inside Kirk Michael church | Carved stones inside Kirk Michael church |
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| Coaches outside Kirk Michael church | Tynwald Hill |
A Mingling of Mischiefs in Man
by Peter Kitson
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A new thing after thirty years Brave onomasts began, When they decided they would hold Their conference in Man. Not in a college would it be But in a swank hotel, Which would provide no decent lamps But at least fed us well. The room costs and the conference fee No separate slots should fill. As if at this anomaly, Our Treasurer fell ill. How should one reach Manannan's isle? Some people chose to fly, For ferry-boats may fail to run, And no-one tells us why. O perils of the Irish Sea! The princes of the South Sought to detain their folk at home Because of foot and mouth. Little success with anyone Their machinations found. Rare is the civil servant who Could push Donall around. Certain of those who came by flight Were caught another way: They were compelled to fly by night, So they must sleep by day. The Heysham luggage carousel Made ferry-landing hard, Then taxis whisked us - just as well - Along the promenade. Whether we came from close-set isles Or half the world around, Dinner proved a great leveller In caverns under ground. First talent-test for onomasts In form of menus came: To what degree are sauce anglaise And custard quite the same? Thus fortified, we rose to get Proceedings under way. A Viking and museum man Followed a word from Kay. In colours bright he showed us sites Where men served kings and God. So hot and stuffy was the room Even Homer would nod. Seek not to know what gems of speech On that first night were said. This bard enjoyed what is ascribed Unto the just, or dead. Refreshment logged, on the next morn Much sharper-eared he rose. Ice-cold debate of decades gone Through Crosby's affix flows. The Vikings here, it may appear, Practised in numbers vast Damnatio memoriae Of monumental past. Black was the water which through this Linguistic sieve could fall. The longest river on the isle Had no good name at all. When monks enclosed the tofts of trolls Minor dispute began, Transcended when there rose to speak The man of Man of Man. No humble chieftain with an awl Through his high pages runs, But sea-god's ramparts four miles long Foam on his native Tuns. The god's and isle's names must bear some Relation, but just what? First came the isle, which as you know Is a well-mountained spot. Its patron deity was veiled In noa-terms' tabu (If you must have a candidate, Our Donall's would be Lugh). William of Ockham would not like How ns were multiplied: Irish reshaped declensions, plus A suffix on each side. Upon the Welsh, one old dispute 'Neath his winged words lay hid: His etymology would yield Directly -wydd, not -wyd(-). After this heavenly tour de force Came contrasts great indeed. The next two papers saw extremes Of fast and stately speed. Manx ground is dangerous for names, Both showed, to general shock, For it could make an utter Cronk Out of one little Cnoc. Once red-haired George believed an Old Welsh township some thought fooling, And pleased the low sort with the parts That make up Lagavhulin. The Reverend Thomson sermonized A professorial line From Cubbon, Kerruish, and Kermode To Quiggin, Quirk, and Quine. Between these two, full steam ahead In different mode obtains To take us all to Castletown By Man's Victorian trains. |
There was found something for all tastes: Machicolated halls, Inventive yachtsmen's smuggling safes, And beachside ruined walls. When the day's work had yielded place To scholars' mild carouse, Soroptimistic music came And overfilled the house With electronic pianists. (The desk girl said "We had, Before, one who was not that loud But really was that bad.") Sunday began with AGM Of unaccustomed gloom, For who should fill the Treasurer's And Membership Sec.'s room? The Great Detective's Danelaw fan Made sure that we should know Of old unhappy far-off things And battles long ago. To find whence Viking farm-names were Transferred to Man she'd try; The Danelaw furnished something like An answer by and by. This soulful juring discourse passed Into more holy talk, How saints of Nendrum sailed to Man On quernstones made in Cork. We think these good men's holy state Would serve to save their souls From where for sailors lie in wait Women and like-named shoals. Our hoar-bearded cartographer Diminished an Old Town To just a navigation-aid Lest the White Ship should drown. Then by a stony ancient toft His namesakes' map was spread, Their banner in the Outer Isles Less yellow or blue than red. Now if you looked at etyma, From two to five were green, And Rufty Tufty was the tune His asterisk might mean. That afternoon the onomasts From Douglas ventured forth To see in situ and in rain Manx crosses further north. Twenty-eight-seater buses, paired, Developed as they rolled The theme stated in railway cars That island transport's old. Less sage advice from native guides Was heard than in some years. Long walks were banned (officialdom Nursed pedal-buccal fears). Rune-reading needed flashlight eyes Or Ogma Face-of-Sun; If lamplight in our rooms was dim, A dark kirk offered none. Ran at high speed down Tynwald hill To test his charmed life At brink of drop to tourist paths A chappie from East Fife. Back on the Empress's parade The final witching hour Produced a sharpish seminar On politics of power. Race is not always to the swift Nor battle to the strong; It's best if you and your branch clan Have allies and live long. The barelegged viking found this out Who by some scouting dire Dealt at Downpatrick once too oft In fatal friendly fire. Now if you thought the grand brigades Had won the fight for truth, Just listen to the rapid-fire Guerrilla from Maynooth. Judicious chairmanship soon put The parties out of range, But to the Boer behind the bar Glenmorangie was strange. For onomasts as well, the bard Could fancy that the mood Was for a conference-final night Unusually subdued. One plain contributory cause Was consciousness of time Of ships and flights so ill-ordained It must be cursed in rhyme. Whether you left ere crack of dawn Or after afternoon, The farewell symphony this made Had a discordant tune; And if your port was Liverpool You reached the harbour mouth A scant few minutes later than The last train had gone south. Forget these draughty station nights, The day was fine (in parts); Replica runestones and cliff walks Could gladden varied hearts. So as our parting memories Waft gently o'er the brine, We hope to see at next year's moot More onomasts on Tyne. |