Shenn Laa Nollick ec Cabbal Pherick (Old Manx Christmas Day at Patrick’s Chapel) - A Manx Ghost Story

He had to clear his head. His brain still felt addled. When did the round of pre-Christmas drinks and celebrations start? One minute it was Hop tu Naa (Manx Halloween) and then bang! Along came an invite to this and an invite to that. Building and building and then there it was 25th December. Did it stop there? Certainly not; New Year was the grand finale. Seemed like a solid month of unbroken over indulgence. Jamys felt weak from the whole celebration thing. It was only now that he felt that he was returning to any kind of normality.

A light breakfast; all part of the recovery process and then he would walk from his home in Kirk Michael to Glen Mooar. January 6th 2013 was a cold, clear Sunday morning. It had been raining for the last couple of days but last night the skies had cleared and now a thick white frost covered the ground. As he stepped out of his house the cold air entering his body made him gasp. The village street was deserted and he walked quickly toward the road that led towards Glen Wyllen, Glen Mooar and then on to the town of Peel (Purt ny h-Inshey). He crossed the road as he neared the village pub, giving it a nervous glance as he passed. The site of many overzealous drinking sessions over the last few weeks and now taking on the guise of Dracula’s Castle; a place to be avoided at all costs.

As he got closer to Glen Mooar he could hear the rushing water. The rain from the previous days was washing down from the mountains and filling the rivers in its relentless push towards the sea. That was good, he thought, the waterfall of Spooyt Vane would look excellent. Spooyt Vane was a spectacular feature of the glen and he looked forward to the invigorating sight and sound of the fall. Jamys pushed open the swing gate and entered the glen. The leaves left on the ground from autumn presented a white carpet that crunched under his feet. He stooped to pick up one of them. Perfectly formed, flat and glistening with frost. Jamys began his ascent along the narrow path that bordered the river.

Lost in his own thoughts for a few minutes he caught the site of a figure ahead of him. Damn, he really wanted his own company and the place to himself today. Although far in the distance he could see that it was a woman dressed in long dark clothing. As he looked at her she lifted her hand and waved. He turned to see if she was waving at someone behind him, but the path was deserted. Maybe it was someone he knew and turned to wave back but the figure was gone. Oh well, he would probably catch up with her eventually. Ignoring people, even strangers, was a big 'no' for the Manx and something best left to the English who seemed to have perfected a sort of anti-social remoteness.

The boom of the waterfall became more pronounced as he made his way towards Cabbal Pherick, the old remains of the 8th-10th century Patrick’s Chapel in the glen. In the distance he thought he could hear the sound of singing. It was far away but he thought it sounded like a hymn, it was certainly being sung in Manx. That was not a surprise there had been a major revival in the Manx language over the last few years and he had been attending adult classes to increase his language skills. The odd thing was that people should be in the glen on a morning like this. If people were going to sing a hymn of course it was likely to be a Sunday, but he had never thought they would be doing it in the glen on a freezing winter’s day.

Jamys made his way to the top of the glen. He passed the remains of Cabbal Pherick and then lingered for a while at the bottom of the waterfall. The boom of the white water as it plunged into the pool had a hypnotic effect upon him. His trance was broken by a shiver as he became aware again of how cold it was. Looking up through the bare branches of the winter trees that surrounded the fall, he could see that the clouds were building again. Dark, merging into a pink tinged with white the clouds promised snow. Jamys made his way up the steep steps that took him from the base of the waterfall and back to the path that would take him down the glen.

The thickening cloud cover had made the glen dark. When closer to the ruins of the old chapel he again saw the figure of the woman he had glimpsed earlier. He could see now that she had long golden hair, her pale skin perfectly framing her Celtic blue eyes. No doubt about it, he thought, she was stunning. She was clearly waving at him again and he was sure he would have remembered her if he’d seen her before. Standing at what would have been the door of Cabbal Pherick she was waving him to come. He walked towards her and saw that she had turned her back towards him and was standing just within the ruined walls. As he stepped into the remains of the chapel, all changed for Jamys.

A different light suddenly hit him, a dimness broken only by points of lit candles. Now surrounded by full walls and a complete roof he found himself within a chapel filled with singing people, all dressed in dark old fashioned clothing. The walls of the chapel were festooned with holly and mistletoe. Everyone looked straight ahead toward the altar, oblivious to his presence; everyone that was except the girl. She stretched out her hand, smiled, and took his into hers. A very cold hand; it felt just like the winter mountain stream. She gently guided him to stand by her side at the back of the chapel. A benevolent and reassuring presence he felt no fear, only wonder. The singing stopped and all fell silent. Guiding him back to the chapel door she opened it for him to step out, As he did she gently whispered into his ear in Manx , like a soft cold breeze, ‘Nollick Ghennal’ (Merry Christmas). Laughing when he looked puzzled, she looked quizzically back at him, ‘Laa Nollick’ (Christmas Day).

A split second later Jamys found himself standing outside the chapel. Now no longer complete but only the moss covered base of the walls that he had always known. It was very quiet; all of the people and the girl had gone. Jamys stood alone in the glen, with the newly falling snow fluttering down on to him and landing on his eyelashes, making him blink. The snowflakes stung his eyes and brought him back to reality. Walking slowly down the glen he felt confused. What had happened? He’d had daydreams before but nothing like this. It had felt so real. The experience didn’t frighten him as much as the concern that there was something wrong with him. Some type of health issue that could cause a brainstorm like this. Why had she wished him a Merry Christmas for Christmas day so long after December 25th? It didn’t make sense.

The snow was falling heavily when he got back to Kirk Michael village. Still a bit shaken he saw the lights of the pub enticing him in. Breaking a new year’s resolution in record time he went into the bar. It was quiet, but he saw Ian sitting in the corner. Ian had been a fixture in the place for as long as anyone could remember. Jamys went over to him and sat beside him. ‘Alright Ian’ he said.

Ian smiled ‘good enough, I suppose I should wish you a Merry Christmas’.

This threw Jamys, ’what on earth do you mean?’

Laughing he replied ‘well its January 6th of course. Many, many years ago this was the old Manx Christmas Day. Slaynt vie (Cheers)!’