Chapter Four
Triumph And Disaster Part I
Douglas, Isle of Man, 17th June 1936.
If, at the time of Friedrich and Max's visit to Berlin, the capital of Germany had been en fête in anticipation of hosting the forthcoming XI Olympiad, then Douglas, the much smaller capital of the Isle of Man, compared to Berlin little more than a provincial seaside town, was also in a highly festive mood.
As with Berlin, the reason for this was not hard to fathom with the much anticipated 1936 Manx TT now under way, in the Senior category of which Tom himself was taking part in but a day or so's time. As a result, here in Douglas, all the many guest houses and hotels situated on the landward side of the long curving Promenade facing the Irish Sea, as well as those elsewhere in the small town, and yet others still further afield, scattered across the length and breadth of the island, in Port Erin, in Peel, in Ramsey and in a host of other places too numerous to mention, were all positively bursting at the seams with visitors.
Among these were, of course, those who had come to compete, both individuals and others who were part of the racing teams of various motorcycle manufacturers such as Excelsior, Norton, and Velocette, all of whom were British. Others had come from further afield, such as NSU and DKW or, to give them their full names, NSU Motorenwerke AG of Neckarsulm, Württemberg, and Dampf-Kraft-Wagen, now part of Auto Union AG, from Chemnitz in Saxony, both from Nazi Germany.
While many of the competitors such as Jimmy Guthrie, Freddie Frith - who had the previous day won the Junior TT - and Ted Mellors - who had come third in the same event - were British, there were others, including Stanley Woods and Henry Tyrell-Smith, who hailed from Ireland, both of whom Tom had met in the past and who had helped him complete the necessary formalities in order to compete; as well as the likes of J. C. Galway from the Union of South Africa, C. Goldberg from New Zealand, and Oskar Steinbach and Heiner Fleischmann from Germany. Of course many of the visitors here to the island had come merely to spectate, while there were yet those who had not the slightest interest in the Races and who were simply here on holiday.
Of course there were some on the island who complained sniffily about all the noise, the petrol fumes and the speed at which the motorcycles were ridden, as well as what they saw as the annual and unwelcome influx of the hoi polloi, many of whom were young working class men from the north west of England.
However, by and large, it must be said that most Manx welcomed the TT, especially the proprietors of the hotels and the landladies of the guesthouses. And, the Isle of Man Steam Packet Company with its three new, luxurious ships, all resplendent in their smart summer livery of white and green, Ben-My-Chree, Lady of Mann, and Mona's Queen on which Matthew and Robert had sailed here from Liverpool, was doing a roaring trade. Even if the Company had seen fit to raise its prices in order to take advantage of a short-lived, yet exceedingly lucrative, increase in trade.
Dining Room, Sefton Hotel, Douglas, Isle of Man, evening 17th June 1936.
"Und nun die Überraschung , von denen ich sprach!"
With a smile, Friedrich nodded his head in the direction of the door of the hotel dining room, Max's eyes growing as wide as saucers and a broad grin now spreading across his face when he saw who it was who had just entered the room. Only his breeding and innate good manners, instilled into him by both his parents from when he was a little boy, as well as he himself these days harbouring a secret desire to be thought more grown up than was actually the case, prevented Max from leaping excitedly from his chair.
For his part, while brought up to be both respectful and well mannered, Danny Branson, like his parents, was open, warm hearted, and spontaneous with his feelings, and had no such qualms.
"Max! Uncle Friedrich!" he cried on catching sight of both his Austrian cousin and Max's father, while Robert, who was rather more self-conscious and restrained, merely raised his hand in friendly greeting. Thereafter with both fathers and their sons having reached the table where Friedrich and Max had been sitting and, with the two of them having risen immediately to their feet, there now followed much heartfelt shaking of hands, while about them those other guests present in the dining room, involuntary witnesses to the happy reunion, now returned to their meals and their own conversations.
"Uncle Friedrich, what are you and Max doing here for sure?" asked Danny when at last they were finally all seated round the circular table.
"Well, as you may know I was making a trip to England to lecture at the British Museum, the Ashmolean, that's another museum, in Oxford, and also at the Fitzwilliam in Cambridge. Hearing from your father, that he intended to race in the TT, knowing just how disappointed Max had been, not to be able to meet up with you all at Bremgarten, as indeed was I, with Max just having had his thirteenth birthday, I decided to bring him along, and so arranged things with your father for us to meet up here in the Isle of Man".
"But why keep all of it a secret?" asked Robert letting his curiosity overcome his customary good manners.
His uncle smiled benevolently.
"Forgive me, but I'm sorry to say the temptation to do so proved irresistible".
Friedrich smiled warmly at his nephew and at his son. He shot a warning glance at both Matthew and Tom who, like Mary and Sybil were well aware of the real reason for all of this, that, notwithstanding the deteriorating situation in Europe, with Max's parlous state of health, after a run of very good luck he had now suffered a succession of serious bleeds, to which fading dark patches under both his eyes bore silent witness, there being every chance that with another, he might never see his cousins again. Friedrich nodded at his two brothers-in-law; knew they had understood the necessity for his well meaning obfuscation. 'Carpe diem," he said softly.
Not that Friedrich made any mention of the fact, but it had been very much touch and go as to whether Max would have the strength to make this trip at all, which explained, in part, Edith's reservations. But somehow he had, and so far all had been well. Indeed, it was a mystery to both his parents from whence Max drew his inner reserves of strength; the doctors too were at a loss to explain it, but suffice to say here they both were, sitting in the dining room of the Sefton Hotel in Douglas, with Max already chattering happily away with his two cousins, telling them all about the flight from Berlin.
"And will you really be all right now, Max?" asked Danny, clearly concerned.
Max smiled wanly
"Will you?" asked Robert, equally worried.
Max smiled again. 'I do hope so," he said earnestly.
With the waiter having placed menus before one all, and the maître d' continuing to hover close by in watchful attendance, it fell to Matthew to ask them all the obvious question.
"What is everyone going to choose to eat?" he asked brightly.
Loch Promenade, Douglas, later that same evening.
Even though it was now ten o'clock, it was still very warm indeed.
With Tom and Danny having gone off to make some further adjustments to the motorbike, upon which Tom had admitted shyly over dinner to having long ago bestowed the name of Sidhe, the Old Irish word for "wind", Matthew and Friedrich with Robert and Max in tow, had spent the last hour or so chatting together out on the Promenade opposite the hotel.
Even at this late hour, with the street lamps now lit, taking advantage of the warm weather, there were still large numbers of people about. Some, like themselves, were just taking a leisurely evening stroll around Douglas Bay, although, judging by their attire, many of the younger folk were bound for one of the enormous dance halls such as the White Palace or Derby Castle situated further along the Promenade towards Onchan Head, while for their part the horse trams and the motor 'buses were all doing a roaring trade in fares.
"... and regrettably, from what I observed in Berlin, Tom very much has the right of it," said Friedrich sadly. "Max! Not on there!"
Robert had perched himself on top of the cast iron railing on the very edge of the sea wall beyond which was a sheer drop of some twenty feet or so to the beach below. Max had made to follow suit but now, and just as quickly, eased himself back down onto the ground, clearly embarrassed at receiving such a public reprimand from his father.
"I'm sorry," said Matthew.
"Don't be. It's not your fault. Neither is it Robert's. Nor for that matter is Max really to blame. Both Edith and I were warned by the doctors that a boy with his condition would often behave this way, it's even got a name: daredevil reaction".
"Daredevil reaction?"
"Deliberately taking risks; even if that's not how Max himself sees it and I'm certain he doesn't. He's a good boy at heart; just longing to be like Danny and Robert, only, of course, he never will be".
"Believe me, I do understand, what an awful business this must be," said Matthew, his compassion and sincerity clear to see.
"There's something else I need to mention. I believe Edith has already spoken to Mary about it a long while ago but ... if anything should happen to either of us ... then I want to know that I can rely on you to see that our two boys are brought here to safety in England".
"Of course. You have my word on that. Do you really think that Herr Hitler will try and push through a union between Germany and Austria?"
"In a word? Yes. I've no doubt of it. None whatsoever. Schuschnigg is no match for Hitler. And the Nazi hotheads in Austria can't wait for the whole idea of Anschluss with Germany to become a reality. And more's the pity because when it does ... Ah, here comes Danny, no doubt with news of the motorbike!"
Later that same evening, somewhere off Market Street, Douglas.
While they all waited for Tom to appear, someone coughed, and somebody else cleared his throat. Then the door at the far end of the old stable at last creaked open.
"Well, here she is," said Tom somewhat self consciously, all the while beaming broadly, the pride in his voice clearly evident as, seated astride the gleaming green and silver machine, he puttered forward into the lamplight, where, save for Danny, he proceeded to introduce them all to his much loved motorbike for the very first time.
"So what type is she again?" asked Matthew as Tom now dismounted.
"A Triumph H, 500 cc. Your army left her behind at Skerries when they went back to barracks in Cork in the summer of 1920. At the time, she was a feckin' wreck for sure. The sergeant who let me have her said she was beyond repair, fit only for the scrapheap. But I restored her," said Tom proudly.
Matthew nodded.
"Yes, I remember you telling me how it all came about. And a damned fine job you've made of her too!"
Tom smiled and patted his motorbike with obvious affection.
Standing beside Matthew, Danny who had just finished checking the tyre pressures, along with the oil level, as well as all the nuts and bolts for tightness, wiping his dirty hands on a piece of cotton waste, now grinned, turned, and whispered quietly in his uncle's ear.
"Once, when I was five or six years old, we were all supposed to have gone for a walk along the beach at Blackrock. Instead, Da spent that whole Sunday afternoon working on the 'bike. Ma was feckin' furious. She told him he loved his 'bike more than he did all of us and that if he didn't watch his step she'd arrange for the rag-and-bone man to call for sure!"
His uncle chuckled softly.
"Somehow, I doubt that very much!"
"So do I! Although I'm not too sure about the rag-and-bone man!" laughed Danny.
Tom smiled at Max, now beckoned him forward.
"Do you want to sit on her?"
"May I, Uncle Tom?" His eyes shining, Max could not conceal his delight.
"Of course!"
Tom helped Max sit astride the Triumph, lending him a pair of goggles for greater effect, before his father took a picture with his Leica IIIa; Friedrich remarking afterwards, and with a wry smile, that he would take steps to prepare Edith for what the photograph actually depicted before he let her see it.
"Exactly how long did you say the course was?" asked Friedrich shutting away the Leica in its leather case.
"Just over thirty seven miles, but you have to go round the circuit seven times, so in total some two hundred and sixty miles or thereabouts, and what's more, it's against the clock".
"Uncle Tom?"
"Hm?"
"Is it true there's no speed limit?" asked Robert.
Tom nodded.
"For sure, and sadly over the years, several riders have been killed; two just last year but don't worry, I intend taking the very greatest care".
"Da?"
"Yes, son?"
"Ma asked me to give you this. She didn't say when but now seems as good a time as any for sure". Danny held out a small package wrapped in brown paper.
Within Tom found a check silk scarf, one which he and Sybil had seen in the window of Kennedy and McSharry's on Westmoreland Street in Dublin several weeks ago and which he himself had very much admired. It was in the colours of Ireland: green for Irish republicanism, orange for those who had supported King Billy at the Boyne, and white symbolising what, even now, was still only an aspiration, a lasting peace between both Catholic and Protestant.
And with the scarf there came a short letter, from Sybil; the contents of which, once he himself had read them, with his eyes misting and his voice faltering, Tom said would prefer to keep private, a sentiment which he trusted the others would all fully understand.
"Well," he said, now regaining his composure and at the same time carefully folding up the silk scarf and thrusting it with the letter into his pocket, "I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm for bed for sure!"
Douglas, early morning, 18th June 1936.
After a hearty breakfast, before Tom and Danny went to check on the Triumph, Branson, Crawley, and Schonborn all took a bracing, companionable stroll together. Later today, it was their intention to go and watch the Lightweight Race being run and which, all things being equal, should have taken place yesterday, but the event had been postponed owing to thick fog up around Snaefell.
However, for the time being their route on foot took them northwards from the Sefton, past the Gaiety Theatre next door. Thence along the broad curve of Loch Promenade, which followed the wide sweep of Douglas Bay, past the rows of guest houses, the Villa Marina, the enormous White Palace dance hall, as far as the ornate canopied terminus of the Douglas Bay Horse Tramway with its clock tower, standing beside the entrance to Derby Castle and its huge pleasure grounds. The location of which was proclaimed for all to see with the name Derby Castle painted in huge white letters across the roof of the distant tram sheds of the Manx Electric Railway nestling below Onchan Head dominated by the castellated buildings of the Falcon Cliff Hotel.
And, this time, it was the fathers who, discretely amused, followed contentedly in the wake of their constantly chattering, excited sons. While Danny and Robert had already passed over the threshold that takes a boy to early manhood, Max had yet to do so, but this notwithstanding it seemed as if nothing between the three of them had changed; nor indeed ever would. Un pour tous et tous pour un, just as it had been ever since their adventure in the Alps back in the summer of 1932. And for Max, despite all the excitement of the flight over to England from Berlin, it seemed that this unexpected reunion here in Douglas between his two cousins and himself surpassed everything else.
From behind them, there came a rumble of wheels, the clink of harness, and the steady clip clop of a horse's hooves as one of the little trams headed slowly past them towards Derby Castle. Meanwhile, down at the Victoria Pier, where a thick pall of black smoke drifted languidly across the pale blue of the early morning sky, there came an enormous blast on a ship's whistle. Turning, they all saw that Mary's very own bête noire, Mona's Queen, was departing on an early morning sailing for Liverpool and swiftly putting out to sea.
Having resumed their interrupted walk in the direction of Derby Castle, but this time unheeded by them, there came a similar, sonorous blast, from another steam packet which was rapidly approaching the outer walls of the harbour; the Lady of Mann, inbound to Douglas, her decks thronged with passengers in the guise of yet another load of visitors to the island, all anxious to catch their first glimpse of the Isle of Man. Among them was an Irishman in a flat blue cap, grey jacket, and brown corduroy trousers who, but a short time later, while disembarking down the gangway, found himself offered help with his heavy suitcase by a chirpy, kind-hearted scouser from Wallasey who took pity on the man without the full use of his left arm.
Had there been anyone else around to see him do so, without his suitcase but instead shouldering a rucksack, the very same Irishman,could have been observed sometime later, getting off the train from Douglas at the isolated little station at Lezayre, on the edge of Ramsey in the far north of the island. The countryside hereabouts was both rural and mountainous. Rather more to the point, at least as far as the Irishman was concerned, through it there passed one of the most isolated stretches of the TT course, high up on the inhospitable slopes of Snaefell itself.
Having left the wayside station well behind him, clambering over an isolated stile, the man glanced upwards; saw that the sun was climbing yet still higher into the sky and feeling hot, now slipped off his jacket. It had, thought Fergal, every promise of being a beautiful day.
Author's Note:
While some of Douglas remains as described, much has sadly ceased to exist, including several of the locations referred to in the story such as the White Palace and Derby Castle, both of which were misguidedly torn down in the 1960s to make way for what were then considered more modern facilities.
Kurt Alois Josef Johann Schuschnigg (1897-1977) Chancellor of Austria (1934-38). He opposed Hitler's plan to absorb Austria into the Third Reich.
For the earlier history of Tom's motorcycle, see my other stories Home Is Where The Heart Is and Reunion.
Rag-and-bone man - an itinerant, often with a horse and cart, who collected unwanted goods to sell for scrap.
Founded in 1890, Kennedy and McSharry's, then on Westmoreland Street, are Dublin's oldest gentlemen's outfitters.
King Billy - William III of Orange whose Protestant troops defeated those of the Catholic James II at the Battle of the Boyne in July 1690.
"Scouser", a nickname given to people from Liverpool; apparently from "lobscouse" the name of a stew once eaten both by sailors and working-class people living in the area.