Post 4. Part 1
Custodian M.
The following extract is taken from a diary entry from the last expedition to The Grid.
08.05.2012
It’s raining. R just sent me a text to say he can’t make it this year. I’m on my own. This will be my first visit to the site of Grid for nine years and Ishould prepare myself for the unexpected.
I’m currently sat in my mothers car in Strang (on the Isle of Man) whilst she’s getting a newspaper from the local spar shop.
I’m watching the rain drops race across the windscreen and can hear mums dog on the back seat adjusting itself into a comfortable position.
‘Are you a good boy Prince?’
The beast returns my gaze briefly before resuming it’s position of hiding under a blanket. How can the beast seem so sulky and yet so endearing?
The blackbirds are singing. A Shoprite van passes by.
Waiting here in the car for the return of mum I question whether the great crusaders of bygone era’s also ferried their late thirty something offspring on holy grail type quests. Doubtful.
Mum returns to the car sighing.
‘There’s a fella in the shop…his face is all scarred – these lads never seem to grow up – do they? He was about thirty…’
So continues the monologue as we drive through the remainder of Strang, up Ballaoates Road and past the poor mans Fairy Bridge towards Abbeylands.
Me: ‘I used to think of this bridge as being a bit like the Fairy Bridge on the Castletown Road when I was younger.’
From Wiki:
The “Fairy Bridge” better known to tourists, is that in the parish of Malew on the A5 roadfrom Douglas to Castletown just below Ballalonna Bridge in Ballalonna Glen on theSanton Burn.54°06′52″N 4°35′43″WCoordinates: 54°06′52″N 4°35′43″W
A superstition is to greet the fairies (an English term for the Mooinjer Veggey; never called fairies or ferrish by the Manx and not of similar disposition to the English fairies) when crossing the fairy bridge; it is supposedly unlucky not to.
Mum: ‘Oh right? Really? Ha Ha.’
We are now moving north of Abbeylands and onto the good ol’ Scollag Road.
This is an infrequent opportunity to find The Grid but just another day on The Isle of Man. I recall the last visit with friend R. We got a train from Laxey to the summit of Snaefell and then onto the site of the lost Grid.
Grid centrale.
Well my fading memory is somewhat fragmented now. Was that a different visit? I really cannot be certain.
I’m regarding the gorse in the hedgerows and know that I’ve returned to the home of the original Manx legend Manannin.
I’m thinking about how (as the so-called legend has it) that a great giant threw a rock into the Irish Sea and formed The Isle of Man.
We’re now making our way along the TT course towards Creg Ny Baa on the A18.
Mum: ‘There’s quite a lot of bikes over already.’
Me: ‘Well I suppose they want to have a bit of a trial run around the course before the races next month.’
Mum: ‘Aye, I suppose so.’
I’m looking to the skies in the hope of spotting a Grid shaped cloud.
We’re driving in the opposite direction that the motorbikes race on TT week. I can make out the Creg Ny Baa pub on the corner and the Manx Telecom mast looming behind a makeshift iron grandstand or GRIDstand.
Mum is continuing her monologue as we venture beyond Kate’s Cottage in our ascent along the mountain road.
Cars, vans (predominatley white) and a few motorbikes nicking about here and there.
Passing a Punch and Judy style booth, a brick shelter, the heather, road chevrons, yellow salt bins. Grey skies and a gentle sprinkling of rain.
