Being brought up in the Isle of Man one breathed the atmosphere of superstition (if you like to call it) , the simple, beautiful faith of the Manx fisher folk, the child-like trust of the Manx girls, who to this day will not forget the bit of wood and coal put ready at the side of the fireplace in case the ‘little people’ call and need a fire. A good husband is the ultimate reward, and neglect in this respect a bad husband or no husband at all. The startling phenomena occurred on my journey home from Peel Town at night to St. Mark’s (where I was Incumbent) . After passing Sir Hall Caine’s beautiful residence, Greeba Castle, my horse — a spirited one — suddenly stopped dead, and looking ahead I saw amid the obscure light and misty moonbeams what appeared to be a small army of indistinct figures — very small, clad in gossamer garments. They appeared to be perfectly happy, scampering and trip- ping along the road, having come from the direction of the beautiful sylvan glen of Greeba and St. Trinian’s Eoofless Church. The legend is that it has ever been the fair- ies’ haunt, and when an attempt has been made on two occasions to put a roof on, the fairies have removed all the work during the night, and for a century no further attempts have been made. It has therefore been left to the ‘little people’ who claimed it as their own.  ‘I watched spellbound, my horse half mad with fear. The little happy army then turned in the direction of Witch’s Hill, and mounted a mossy bank; one ‘ little man’ of larger stature than the rest, about 14 inches high, stood at attention until all had passed him dancing, singing, with happy abandon, across the Valley fields towards St. John’s Mount. (Doyle, Coming of the Fairies, 155-156)