The Drine Skeg (Hawthorn Hedge)

I would like to speak about the drine skeg or hawthorn hedge, which, although not recognised by law as a boundary hedge, is largely used to separate fields, especially in the lowlands. The planting of these is of special interest.

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Lus y Wooishall – The Wishing Herb – Yarrow

Cut by the light of the new moon by a young woman who said as a charm: “Good morra, green yarra, Good morra, green yarra, Good morra green yarra to thee; Tell me tonight Before to-morra Who my true love

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On Andreas Dunes

I met a brown rabbit Today on the dunes When the curlews were piping Their queer, lonely tunes. He sat on his haunches As I came along, And watched while I listened To that airy song. The broad air was

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Manannan’s Weather

When Juan Quirk was a bit of a boy, nothing would do but his mother must tell him a story every night before he went to bed. And a special kind of story it had to be. He was all

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In An Old Manx Cottage

Is it yerself tha’s theer, Betsy? Lif’ up the latch wumman – an’ come in. Shut the dhure quick – for the fire’s smookin’ with the eas’ win’ An’ I’m feelin’ the cuth somethin’ tarrable! Who’s this yer got with

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Manx Farming – Cultivation

Manx farmers had little understanding of crop rotation and scarcely practiced it, according to Basil Quayle, who described their farming in 1794. In the days before sown grasses or turnips were introduced to the Island, the only green crops to

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Early Emigration

The Manx Legislature had, indeed, placed special difficulties on the emigration of the Manx people. One of the earliest laws in the Statute Book had directed that no-one born and resident in the Island should leave it without the Governor’s

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The White Cat

One night in the back-end of the year, when the dim was coming on middling early, my father was going to shut the door, when he noticed a thing like a big white cat sitting out in the street. He

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Peggy My Chree or The Pride of the Parish

A nicer ol’ body is like yer’ll not see From the cronk to the claddagh, till Peggy My Chree! Wis eggs an’ some honey she’ll come if yer bad, An’ her black curran’ tay is the bes’ to be had.

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Ellan Vannin

To the Isle – to the fairy isle over the seas, Where spangles are bright on its musical breeze; Where the skies they are dappled with shadows that gleam, And the nights are alight with the shooting-stars’ stream, And gorse

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