Sophie’s World

The Isle of Man is famous for two – maybe three – things: petrol heads, film locations and tax evaders. The petrol heads come for the annual Isle of Man TT motorcycle race, when crazy hotheads drive along the coast like maniacs. Every year, it seems someone dies crashing or driving off a cliff. Actually, for years, this was the most famous motorcycle race in the world. Arcade games are named after it.

Man attracts the film industry because of its great locations (and, I assume, tax-breaks). More than 80 films have been filmed on the island, incl. I Capture the Castle, Keeping Mum, Waking Ned and Lassie. The tourism authorities advertise the fact just a wee bit: “On the Isle of Man, you can expect Patrick Swayze to pop down in the seat next to you in the cinema, or spot Renee Zellweger and Ewan McGregor jogging along the promenade in Douglas.” For interested readers, here’s more info about filming locations on the Isle of Man.

And true: some, quite a few, probably, are here because of the low (or no) taxes. Man has no capital gains tax, wealth tax, death duty (inheritance tax) or stamp duty (document tax). Top income tax rate is 18 %, but capped at 100 000 pounds per person. Corporate tax is, with a few exceptions, nothing, 0 %, nil!

To the economist and the social democrat in me, there’s something a bit unsavoury in wishing to attract people who prefer to contribute as little as possible to the common good. I discussed this plenty, sometimes heatedly, and often over copious GTs, with other tourists and Man residents who had moved over for tax purposes. Sadly, I hadn’t really found any true locals to talk it over with.

Waiting for the Viking to take me back to Liverpool, I spent my last morning at the Manx Museum. During lunch in the attractive, airy museum café, the Bay Room, an elderly lady approached me. “You’re on your own, aren’t you,” she said. “I see you in here quite often.”

“I’m afraid not,” I replied. “This is my first visit, both to this café and to the Isle of Man”. I asked her to join me, and as luck would have it, there was my local. She was a kind and thoughtful lady, recently widowed, who came in here for lunch quite often herself. We talked about the island, its people and the reason people move here. When I asked her about Isle of Man’s reputation for attracting financial fixers, she became very sad.

“Some come here for all the wrong reasons,” she said quietly. “The island has so much to offer.” She herself had married a Manx farmer, moved here 50 years ago and had enjoyed every one of those years. She loved the island; it had been good to her and her family. “Schools and health care are good and it’s a secure, healthy place for children to grow up”, she said before we parted. I was glad to talk to her.

Leaving the Bay Room, I wondered who she was, the one who came here quite often, all on her own and looking like me; my Manx double.

Castletown was the first Manx capital; a Viking city. That’s where I finally had lunch. At about 5, I stopped at a cheerful pub called The Castle Arms that looked cosy in the late afternoon sunshine. Might they have some food and not just beer, I enquired. “Sorry, luv,” the man said. “We finish serving food at 2. Try the Garrison or the Viking. The Viking serves pub meals from 6 o’clock.” Then he went on to give detailed directions to the Viking – over the bridge, around-and-a-ways, next to the petrol station – clearly indicating, I think, which of the two alternatives he preferred.

I was hungry now however, so the Garrison it was. Looking at its menu, comprising wine and tapas, I could see how it might not offer ideal grub for a big, burly man. Anyway, he called me luv. A bit naff, I know, but I rather like it when big, burly men call me luv.

Settling on chicken breast stuffed with smoked salmon (sounds odd but it works) followed by a ham, cheese and peach salad and a lovely glass of Italian red, I stared out the window at Castle Rushen - one of Europe’s best kept medieval castles. I thought of Magnus Olafsson, my fellow countryman and the last Norse king to rule over Man. He died in Castle Rushen in 1265. The following year, another Magnus (Magnus Lagabøte - or Magnus the Law-mender in English) ceded the Isle of Man to the Scots at the Treaty of Perth. (Norway kept Shetland and the Orkneys for another couple of hundred years, until a king of Denmark-Norway pawned them (!) to pay for his daughter’s dowry… but that’s another story for another time).

At Castle Rushen, some guides were busy closing up shop. Others were soaking up the last rays of the setting sun, chatting and waiting for the last visitors to leave. None too happy with me showing up 4 minutes before closing time, they were reluctant to let me in. But I was firm, insisting it was 4.56, not yet 5. I showed them my 4-attractions-on-Man card (which I hadn’t time to use, silly me for buying one), determined not to leave the island without at least using half of it.

Back at the Garrison, I was persuaded to try a dessert called Eton Mess. When I asked what on earth that was, the waitress just said: “It’s gorgeous!”, herself rather gorgeous – and slim. So I took my chances. Eton Mess is meringue, whipped cream and strawberries, all mixed together in a well… mess. Eton? I suppose this is what rich young boys like for pudding. Afterwards, I thought I was going to explode, that’s how full I was.

Castletown Square has the imposing Castle Rushen on one side. On the other, the cerulean ocean peeked through an alley. Waiting for the bus back to Douglas, I reflected on, as I often do, the fact that I’d probably never see this square again. A pretty square in a nice town on an interesting island. Sadly, the world is full of places I haven’t yet seen…

Tomorrow: some concluding thoughts and observations about the Isle of Man
Below: scenes from Castletown harbour. I do like sail boats.

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