It might be said that with the final sale of 1829 the history of the
Isle of Man came to a close. Since then we have been in the happy
condition of the nation without a history. Man is now a dependency of
the English crown. The crown is represented by a Lieutenant-Governor.
Our old Norse Constitution remains. We have Home Rule, and it works
well. The Manx people are attached to the throne of England, and her
Majesty has not more loyal subjects in her dominions. We are deeply
interested in Imperial affairs, but we have no voice in them. I do not
think we have ever dreamt of a day when we should send representatives
to Westminster. Our sympathies as a nation are not altogether, I think,
with the party of progress. We are devoted to old institutions, and
hold fast to such of them as are our own. All this is, perhaps, what you
would expect of a race of islanders with our antecedents.
Our social history has not been brilliant. I do not gather that the Isle
of Man was ever Merry Man. Not even in its gayest days do we catch any
note of merriment amid the rumpus of its revelries. It is an odd thing
that woman plays next to no part whatever in the history of the island.
Surely ours is the only national pie in which woman has not had a
finger. In this respect the island justifies the ungallant reading of
its name--it is distinctly the Isle of Man. Not even amid the glitter
and gewgaws of our Captain Macheaths do you catch the glint of the gown
of a Polly. No bevy of ladies, no merry parties, no pageants worthy of
the name. No, our social history gives no idea of Merry Man.
Our civil history is not glorious. We are compelled to allow that it
has no heroism in it. There has been no fight for principle, no brave
endurance of wrong. Since the days of Orry, we have had nothing to tell
in Saga, if the Sagaman were here. We have played no part in the work of
the world. The great world has been going on for ten centuries without
taking much note of us. We are a little nation, but even little nations
have held their own. We have not.
One great king we have had, King Orry. He gave us our patriarchal
Constitution, and it is a fine thing. It combines most of the best
qualities of representative government. Its freedom is more free than
that of some republics. The people seem to be more seen, and their voice
more heard, than in any other form of government whose operation I have
witnessed. Yet there is nothing noisy about our Home Rule. And this
Constitution we have kept alive for a thousand years, while it has died
out of every other Norse kingdom. That is, perhaps, our highest national
honour. We may have played a timid part; we may have accepted rulers
from anywhere; we may never have made a struggle for independence; and
no Manxman may ever have been strong enough to stand up alone for his
people. It is like our character that we have taken things easily, and
instead of resisting our enemies, or throwing them from our rocky
island into the sea, we have been law abiding under lawless masters
and peaceful under oppression. But this one thing we have done: we
have clung to our patriarchal Constitution, not caring a ha'p'orth
who administered our laws so long as the laws were our own. That is
something; I think it is a good deal. It means that through many changes
undergone by the greater peoples of the world, we are King Orry's men
still. Let me in a last word tell you a story which shows what that
description implies.