Y Reg Isle of Man Tour 2019

The MG Y Type Register Isle of Man Tour 2019

There was a time on the ferry from Liverpool to Douglas when I regretted organising a tour of MG Y Types to the Isle of Man. That time was when sick bags started being handed out and the horizon rose up and disappeared suddenly and violently, at the front and then at the sides. Beneath me on the car deck there were 15 MGs and a 1937 Riley. Luckily, they were all strapped down by the crew before we sailed because as the captain told us, ‘There are reports of weather.’ As we

got closer to the island, he told us, ‘We’ll soon be protected by the bulk of the island and the journey will become a bit less interesting.’

The Y Type Register has a tradition now of a ‘foreign trip’ every two years; we visit Llanerchindda in mid-Wales in the years between. Somehow, after being finagled into organising a trip to the Loire Valley in 2015, it’s apparently my job to arrange them. I had never been to the Isle of Man before and knew very little about it apart from the TT and the fact that Norman Wisdom had lived there. I worked with an excellent island company, Isle of Man Event Services, to organise it.  Sally Helwich was very helpful and knowledgeable and got us a good deal for the ferry tickets, a hotel on the front in Douglas and a ticket for entry to any of the islands many attractions for one day. Because people were travelling from all over England, we had booked rooms in a Premier Inn in Liverpool at a reduced rate arranged by Sally.

It was here that Peter Vielvoye lost his Meerkat.

Every foreign trip since David Pelham’s Brittany tour we’ve had a mascot; the Meerkat was from David’s tour and a nice way to remember him. Most people have all the tour mascots in their cars, a worm from the Loire, a red squirrel from the Isle of Wight and a soft toy Manx cat for this one.

In the Liverpool car park, someone crept up to his car in the night and stole his Meerkat mascot.

We set off from the hotel to Liverpool Docks where our ferry was to leave from beneath the famous Liver Buildings. I often wonder who is responsible for arranging direction signs in cities. They start of fine, very clear and obvious; then they get smaller and disappear altogether before you get to where you want to go. The dockside in Liverpool was like that. You know

something’s wrong when you see Y types coming towards you and wonder who is right. Then you both make U-turns because no one knows. The weather was wet and miserable but it great to see so many Ys together, we were joined on the docks by Roy Clapham and Brian and Kay Moyse who hadn’t stayed at the hotel. My Y wasn’t there unfortunately. Just before we left, I opened the bonnet to check the oil and found a cascade of it coming from behind the battery box. Because I had no time to find out what was wrong, I put it back in the garage. We went instead in Gillie’s car, which is an MG, albeit an MG3. (You probably know what was wrong; everyone did. I didn’t)

We’d planned to go from Douglas to the Isle of Man Motor Museum at Jurby in the north of the island, but by the time we got in it was too late; the strapping down of all the cars on the ferry had delayed our sailing time. At the hotel we found we had a private dining room overlooking the sea. This was fortunate because the restaurant was taken over on our first night by a stag do who; well they enjoyed themselves, a lot. We did too, but more sedately.

The next day, Saturday, I had booked the pit lane in front of the TT grandstand for a photo opportunity. We lined the cars

up in the pits, they fitted perfectly. Everyone took photos, I took an official photograph from the winner’s box of everyone waving by their cars, no one was sprayed with champagne though. We then drove back to the hotel and walked along the promenade to the Manx Electric Tramway. I’d been told earlier that there would be no problem getting 31 people on the tram but when we got there, there was another party that had booked one of the two coaches. After a scramble for seats and some reorganising, we all got on. It was a beautiful trip in an immaculately maintained Victorian Tram, clinging to the coast almost all the way. At Laxey we changed for the railway up the mountain to the top of Snaefell. Here there were so many people that we couldn’t get on the first train. A very helpful station attendant asked if we were a group and guaranteed that we’d get on the next one, he wouldn’t let

anyone else on until we were all on. Again, it was a perfectly maintained tram and the ride to the top was thrilling, we even saw a mountain hare, the first time I’d ever seen one. Some stretches are so steep that there is a centre rail that a brake below the coach grips onto to stop it gaining too much speed. Peter V delighted in telling us that on a previous trip to the island the driver could not tighten the brake wheel sufficiently and the coach was gaining speed down the hill. A strong, rugby playing passenger ran into the cab and tightened the brake and slowed them down. We all found the story very reassuring.

At the top it is said that you can see 6 kingdoms, and you can. The people working in the café, and there were a lot of them, seemed thoroughly shocked to see that a tram full of people had arrived. Nobody came to the counter as the queue built up, none of the staff seemed to know what was expected from them. I did catch someone’s eye who agreed that yes, I could have a panini, they took it from the display and handed it onto another person to prepare. I then paid another person for it. A while later another person brought it to our table. The queue was still there when we left. The view from the top is sensational and you are able to see the line back down which is very steep and seems precarious in places. Luckily no strong-armed hero was needed to apply the brakes on the way back.

The tram and the train had been part of the one day all attractions ticket which came as part of our package. As we had started at 11.10am, we assumed that it would last until the same time the next day.

The dinners at the hotel were excellent, and being able to see out to sea while eating was a pleasure. We spent the meals

and after talking and laughing a lot but I can’t remember what about, which I think is the best sort of conversation.

Some of us walked along the front to a pub where Norman Wisdom often drank, there is a bench outside it with a life-size statue of him sitting at one end. If you find a bench with Norman sitting on you have to sit at the other end and have your photo taken don’t you. So, we did; I even wore a peaked cap for the occasion.

The next day we planned to go on the Isle of Man Steam Railway from Douglas to Port Erin and then to Peel for Sunday Lunch in restaurant by the harbour.

I was worried that because we’d missed the Motor Museum, I’d started out arranging a car tour of the Isle of Man but we’d ended up riding on trains for most of the time. I mentioned it to a couple of people but they seemed happy, ‘We’re all transport nuts anyway’, they said.

At the station I found out that our day passes ran out at midnight and that we’d have to pay for our trip. We could have booked as a group and got a discount but… ‘What if we paid you as a group now,’ I asked. ‘You’d have to pay for everyone at the same time,’ I was told. It was amazingly easy to extract a tenner from everyone in a very short time and dump the lot on the booking office counter. For the second time in the trip a railway official helped us, ‘as a group’, by locking a whole carriage for us so that the hoi-polloi couldn’t invade our Y Type space before the train started.

It’s a narrow-gauge line, the standard of the carriages was again exemplary, the small tank engine that pulled it was sparkling and the views out along the south coast were wonderful. Port Erin, the terminus is a pretty bay and the station

has a traditional café. I went onto the beach so that I could say I’d been on the beach and Gillie did some water colour painting.

We took the train back to Douglas, in our personal carriage, and drove the

TT route to Peel on the west coast, for lunch. I’d booked Sunday lunch in a restaurant on the harbour called The Boatyard. It was a late lunch and I was aware that there was an evening meal coming up at the hotel but I thought we’d have a lightish lunch and a lightish dinner. Most of us ordered the Sunday roast. I don’t know what I expected but when it arrived, we found endless layers of beef slices together with every vegetable you can think of and a lot of perfect roast potatoes; in a Yorkshire Pudding the size of a washing up bowl. And gravy.

I struggled with it, everyone struggled with it, even people who I have never seen without a clean plate at the end of a meal. It was delicious and I’d recommend the place to anyone but it was a big meal; those who had chosen fish options or anything other than the roast finished meals happily and looked on with amusement as the rest of us tried to do justice to

ours.

Some of us then drove around the rest of the TT route to the north, through Ramsey and back down to Douglas.

The record time for this circuit of 37 miles is just under 15 minutes. Fifteen minutes; that’s an average speed of 155 miles an hour. The person who holds that record hit 231mph at times. I had never fully realised the risk in involved in the TT so clearly as when we drove around it. Trees, walls and other hard objects at the side of the road have thick padding wrapped around them; though hitting them at 231 mph would still not be pleasant. In fact, a New Zealander was killed while racing only a week or so before our tour. Brave men indeed.

We had a late dinner that night and most of us just had a starter. I announced the answers to the Tour quiz (we always hand out a quiz at the start of the tour). Graham Perry and Lucie Brooks won but I’d forgotten to get a prize. They did however get a round of applause.

We had arranged different leaving times for the next day. Those of us with far to go took the 7.30am ferry, some people went in the afternoon and some stayed on for a longer. The hotel kindly put on an early breakfast for us and we left for the ferry in good time. There was a much more pleasant crossing back to Liverpool and as ever, it was sad to say goodbye to people we’d had a good time with over the long weekend.

So, who was there?

In MG Y saloons: –

Ashley and Louise Bateman, Neil and Janet Cairns, Alan and Carole Chick, Roy Clapham, Suzanne and Gary Gibb, David and Hazel Jones, Brian and Kaye Moyse, Graham Perry and Lucie Brooks, Keith and Wendy Powell, Fran and Jan Smith.

In MG YTs

Jerry and Jo Birkbeck, Mike and Sue Silk, Peter Vielvoye and Malcolm Burden

In an MGTD

Derrick Newman and Reg Kirkby

In a 1937 Riley Monaco

Bill and Linda Wakefield

In an MG3

Peter and Gillie Sharp

Nearly everyone got home safely, Jerry had oil problems again but it was identified and cured in time.

I’ve been asked to do another one in 2021 and to continue the island theme. I’m looking at either the Turks and Caicos or Tristan de Cunha.

 

 

A selection of Photos taken on the tour