It was the end of the September of a long hot summer,
I had finished working for the vacation and soon would be back at University. I was 19 and decided that I could fit in a trip to the Isle of Man, but the speed with which I would depart meant that I would go away on my own. Next morning I was off on an early train to Liverpool Exchange.
A short walk down Tithebarn St and Chapel St took me to the Pierhead where I boarded SS King Orry for an uneventful trip to Douglas. King Orry was a real steamship with real boilers and real steam turbines!
The boarding house which I had in mind from looking at adverts in the local paper was already shut, for the season was ending. Over 40 years later he is still at it! (The afternoon ferry to Liverpool and all ferries to Fleetwood had stopped too, until spring.) I was able to book in next door. One afternoon I decided that the next day I would go on the Manx Electric Railway and call at many of the glens which lie on the east coast of the island.
I remember calling at the delightful Groudle Glen and at the less memorable Garwick Glen.
At the somewhat forbiddingly named Dhoon Glen I was the only person to get off the tram.
But it was beautiful, with steep sides full of trees and other greenery.
The path dropped down and down, past waterfalls, down and down until I reached a rocky beach. Here I ate my lunch and drank a can of beer, wandered over rocks and boulders, clambered along the edge of the sea and found myself on a shelf of rock with the sea lapping at its edge. Suddenly the thought of a swim burst into my mind, but I had no trunks. Should I? But I might be seen!
Oh, stop it! No one else got off the tram, you've seen no one since you entered the glen!
A few moments later I stood naked on the edge of the shelf, and slipped feet first into the sea scraping my bum slightly as I went in. It was colder that I was expecting, but I really enjoyed the experience.
The gentle swell of the sea lifted me slowly up and down, pushed me back and forth giving me one of the most memorable events of my life. There was no towel to dry myself with so I got dressed wet.
This holiday was even more memorable because the previous day I had plucked up courage to go to the Russian steam bath in Douglas. I knew that I would be naked apart from a towel, knew little more than that. The attendant told me to go into a cubicle and undress, which I did, and so found myself in the nude at one end of a room with a pile of towels at the other.
It was a mistake I have never made since. Towel first, strip second is the First Law of Saunas, Russians and Turks. So there I was a gangly self-conscious 19 year old walking along stark naked down the middle of the room. It seemed an eternity before I got the towel round me.
I have no idea how long I had been there, sweating and showering, sweating and showering when the attendant called to me, "Moth", he said, (no he didn't, he used my real name), "time for your ...." He used a word which I did not understand and still cannot remember, but it was a body scrub.
"Face down on the slab," he said. "Towel please," he added. So I dropped the towel and lay on the slab while he scrubbed me and hosed me down with seawater. I lay there dreading the order to turn over when my masculinity would be revealed with no towel for cover. But the order came, and I survived without embarrassment.
Again it was a case of scrub and seawater. So that was my first time in that kind of facility, and now I am a frequent visitor. I returned to Liverpool aboard King Orry.
The following year I returned to the Isle of Man, having enjoyed that holiday so much.
This time I planned much of it beforehand and booked ahead at the Youth Hostel at Ramsey. Yes, I took the tram from Douglas to Ramsey and broke my journey at Dhoon only two hours or so after getting off the boat, King Orry again! Luggage? you ask. All in a rucksack.
Down to the beach to get naked and get swimming. The tide was low! It was impossible to swim where I swam previously. I clambered and slithered over the rocks in the centre of the bay, stripped off and somehow got into the sea, but it was not an enjoyable experience because of the slippery rocks and the shallowness of the water.
The warden of the hostel had given up on me arriving because I arrived at about 9pm; he told me that I had the whole hostel to myself; he had had no-one for about 4 days and one more person was booked in for one night a few days ahead. So, keeping note of the warden's movements, I was able to wander round the Youth Hostel naked many times.
The local newspaper gave me the times of high tide, and I timed another visit to Dhoon for high tide and was able to swim nude from the same rocky shelf I swam the previous year.
There were three hostels on the island in those days and I went to stay at Port Erin for three nights. Again I was the only hosteller there and was able to wander round almost the whole building in my skin. Alas, I found nowhere in that part of the island where the water looked safe for swimming and which was secluded enough to do it as a skinny-dip.
My return to Douglas was on the steam railway, and thence back to Ramsey on the tram.
In the hostel I met the other hosteller who needed to rise early the next day to start his homeward journey. Back on my own I took advantage of the huge sinks in the members' kitchen and used one of them as a bath. Few hostels in those days had showers, and those few were all fed with icy cold water.
Morning took me on the bus to Douglas, the first tram being too late to connect with the only ferry to Liverpool, and so ended the second of two delightful holidays on the Isle of Man.
Even at that age I had become a confirmed Secret Naturist. At the end of this holiday the trip back to Liverpool was aboard SS Manxman.
Although I have returned to the Isle of Man since, it has not been for holidays, but I hope to return one day. I hear that time has been kind to the Manx Electric Railway and hope too that it has been kind to Dhoon Glen. I trust that it remains as beautiful as it was when I was a lanky undergraduate.
I had finished working for the vacation and soon would be back at University. I was 19 and decided that I could fit in a trip to the Isle of Man, but the speed with which I would depart meant that I would go away on my own. Next morning I was off on an early train to Liverpool Exchange.
A short walk down Tithebarn St and Chapel St took me to the Pierhead where I boarded SS King Orry for an uneventful trip to Douglas. King Orry was a real steamship with real boilers and real steam turbines!
The boarding house which I had in mind from looking at adverts in the local paper was already shut, for the season was ending. Over 40 years later he is still at it! (The afternoon ferry to Liverpool and all ferries to Fleetwood had stopped too, until spring.) I was able to book in next door. One afternoon I decided that the next day I would go on the Manx Electric Railway and call at many of the glens which lie on the east coast of the island.
I remember calling at the delightful Groudle Glen and at the less memorable Garwick Glen.
At the somewhat forbiddingly named Dhoon Glen I was the only person to get off the tram.
But it was beautiful, with steep sides full of trees and other greenery.
The path dropped down and down, past waterfalls, down and down until I reached a rocky beach. Here I ate my lunch and drank a can of beer, wandered over rocks and boulders, clambered along the edge of the sea and found myself on a shelf of rock with the sea lapping at its edge. Suddenly the thought of a swim burst into my mind, but I had no trunks. Should I? But I might be seen!
Oh, stop it! No one else got off the tram, you've seen no one since you entered the glen!
A few moments later I stood naked on the edge of the shelf, and slipped feet first into the sea scraping my bum slightly as I went in. It was colder that I was expecting, but I really enjoyed the experience.
The gentle swell of the sea lifted me slowly up and down, pushed me back and forth giving me one of the most memorable events of my life. There was no towel to dry myself with so I got dressed wet.
This holiday was even more memorable because the previous day I had plucked up courage to go to the Russian steam bath in Douglas. I knew that I would be naked apart from a towel, knew little more than that. The attendant told me to go into a cubicle and undress, which I did, and so found myself in the nude at one end of a room with a pile of towels at the other.
It was a mistake I have never made since. Towel first, strip second is the First Law of Saunas, Russians and Turks. So there I was a gangly self-conscious 19 year old walking along stark naked down the middle of the room. It seemed an eternity before I got the towel round me.
I have no idea how long I had been there, sweating and showering, sweating and showering when the attendant called to me, "Moth", he said, (no he didn't, he used my real name), "time for your ...." He used a word which I did not understand and still cannot remember, but it was a body scrub.
"Face down on the slab," he said. "Towel please," he added. So I dropped the towel and lay on the slab while he scrubbed me and hosed me down with seawater. I lay there dreading the order to turn over when my masculinity would be revealed with no towel for cover. But the order came, and I survived without embarrassment.
Again it was a case of scrub and seawater. So that was my first time in that kind of facility, and now I am a frequent visitor. I returned to Liverpool aboard King Orry.
The following year I returned to the Isle of Man, having enjoyed that holiday so much.
This time I planned much of it beforehand and booked ahead at the Youth Hostel at Ramsey. Yes, I took the tram from Douglas to Ramsey and broke my journey at Dhoon only two hours or so after getting off the boat, King Orry again! Luggage? you ask. All in a rucksack.
Down to the beach to get naked and get swimming. The tide was low! It was impossible to swim where I swam previously. I clambered and slithered over the rocks in the centre of the bay, stripped off and somehow got into the sea, but it was not an enjoyable experience because of the slippery rocks and the shallowness of the water.
The warden of the hostel had given up on me arriving because I arrived at about 9pm; he told me that I had the whole hostel to myself; he had had no-one for about 4 days and one more person was booked in for one night a few days ahead. So, keeping note of the warden's movements, I was able to wander round the Youth Hostel naked many times.
The local newspaper gave me the times of high tide, and I timed another visit to Dhoon for high tide and was able to swim nude from the same rocky shelf I swam the previous year.
There were three hostels on the island in those days and I went to stay at Port Erin for three nights. Again I was the only hosteller there and was able to wander round almost the whole building in my skin. Alas, I found nowhere in that part of the island where the water looked safe for swimming and which was secluded enough to do it as a skinny-dip.
My return to Douglas was on the steam railway, and thence back to Ramsey on the tram.
In the hostel I met the other hosteller who needed to rise early the next day to start his homeward journey. Back on my own I took advantage of the huge sinks in the members' kitchen and used one of them as a bath. Few hostels in those days had showers, and those few were all fed with icy cold water.
Morning took me on the bus to Douglas, the first tram being too late to connect with the only ferry to Liverpool, and so ended the second of two delightful holidays on the Isle of Man.
Even at that age I had become a confirmed Secret Naturist. At the end of this holiday the trip back to Liverpool was aboard SS Manxman.
Although I have returned to the Isle of Man since, it has not been for holidays, but I hope to return one day. I hear that time has been kind to the Manx Electric Railway and hope too that it has been kind to Dhoon Glen. I trust that it remains as beautiful as it was when I was a lanky undergraduate.
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