Get Me To The Isle of Man

Recently I was at Toronto’s Airport planning to fly to Europe. Often on past trips, I have picked up Canadian maple syrup in an airport shop to take to Britain. But that was in the days before 9/11. Now we are reminded about liquids and gels. Since syrup fits the “gel” label I leave empty handed. But the memory took my mind back to a previous trip from Toronto to Manchester when duty free items occupied a whole night of worry.

It was during the 1990's and I was embarking on a visit to the Isle of Man to stay with my Mother. My flight from Canada would arrive in Manchester early morning and I could catch a flight to the Isle of Man by noon. These were the plans. I was in the departure lounge when the first delay was announced. Now catching my connecting flight was in jeopardy. The Isle of Man was always perfect respite for me during my caregiver years and I longed to be there, hiking coastal trails where distant hills were purple hued with flowering heather.

The next announcement brought me back to the reality of the moment. The incoming delayed flight would not be able to take off again with us on board because of the departure curfew then in place in Toronto. We would not be able to leave until next morning when the curfew was lifted. So the decision had been made to divert the incoming flight to Hamilton, where there was no curfew. So we would be bussed to Hamilton to meet the plane. But since we would be leaving a duty free zone, we would have to return to the Duty Free stores and get our money back. This did not pose a problem for me. I complied and sat waiting to be called to the bus. I once more thought of my visit to the Isle of Man with green fertile valleys and rolling hills.

However, there was much negative energy around me. Many Brits returning home from their Canadian holiday had shopped till they dropped at the Duty Free stores for gifts. Other Canadian passengers were taking gifts to Britain. Their indignation turned to anger when we arrived at Hamilton to find no shops open. It was midnight and the airport had been kept open purely for the arrival and departure of our plane.

There were long line-ups for the few pay phones, but I did get through to my Mother alerting her to the fact that I would not be on the plane she was planning to meet and indeed had no idea when I would get a connecting flight.

We were in a confined space. There were not enough seats for everyone. There were crying children, tired adults and now one enemy. “It is THEIR fault and THEY should do something about it. THEY should get the shops open so we can buy our Duty Free. It is our Right. I don’t care about government rules that say you cannot take duty free goods out of a duty free zone. It is THEIR fault.” On and on it went. Many people however gave up and accepted sadly that this was the reality and they would have no gifts to take to waiting family and friends.

But as always in any crowd there is a core group of agitators. They may believe they are acting for the good of the majority in their fight of the system, but often with selfish intent. Sometimes the energy to protest is better saved and used on a more important issue. But often reason is outweighed by the zeal of the offended. Reason is lost to retribution. Someone would pay for this. I selfishly resented the lack of calm. I’d missed my connecting flight. Must my airspace be contaminated with all these negative vibrations?

We boarded our plane; we eat our meal amid many apologies from the crew. I closed my eyes, trying to sleep before the craft flew into the sunrise. I tried to distract myself from the awareness that if there are no empty seats on the evening flight to the Isle of Man, I will have to spend the night in Manchester. Instead I thought of my strolls towards Castletown with its ancient castle dominating the skyline. This castle was the site of the last Viking kings to rule the island.

The plane headed towards Manchester and the militant revolutionaries sort supporters all night. A message came round saying that they were going to stage a sit down strike when we landed; refusing to disembark unless they could have Duty Free goods. Puleese; this can’t be happening? The news cameras in my head roll and I see armed tanks lining the runway at Manchester. I see storm troopers bashing down the door and filling the plane with tear gas. I see Manchester Airport refusing to let us land and our plane circling until we run out of fuel or worse, flying somewhere I didn't want to go. No! I want to go to the Isle of Man. Is that too much to ask? Just let me feel those sea breezes and watch the salt-water wash the ancient pebbles, millions of years old. I am quite prepared to fight for what I believe in, but don’t force me to be a victim in your newsreel.

England was now below us. The pilot made an announcement. He indicated that if passengers failed to obey the instructions of a member of the crew, it was deemed to be an act of hijacking. There was silence on the plane. It landed on British soil; everyone disembarked.

I raced to another terminal with two other women from the plane. All three of us were placed on standby for the evening flight to the Isle of Man. We spent the afternoon together in an airport bar before boarding the turboprop to Ronaldsway Airport.

My tension dissipates as I walk the beaches and watch the salt-water wash the ancient pebbles, millions of years old.

How often in our life we are positioned in a place of conflicting goals. All I wanted was to get the Isle of Man, please. Many others also focused on getting where they wanted to go. But some had new goals when faced with a change of plans. They were purely selfish in origin but fuelled by the energy created by like minded people. How many acts of violence, civil disobedience and destruction occur just because it felt right in the moment?

Luckily the pilot summed it up for what it was and extinguished the fire. But those of us who did nothing, did not get involved, and did not make it our issue – were we just as responsible for letting it happen? In this situation the pilot and his crew were firmly in control. But what if we were in a situation when there was no “pilot?” I hope I would stand up for truth and justice. I hope I would not walk away saying it wasn’t my problem.

I look at the million grains of sand at my feet, eroded from pebbles by the elements. They take on new form because of their experience. Am I forever changed?