A decade ago Pullyman - aka Michael Cowin - was diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease. Michael discovered writing and, five years ago, began writing a regular column for Island Life.

To celebrate reaching 250 columns, we look back on some of his favourite musings and enjoy life as seen through the eyes of Pullyman

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Even with a fair tide and a following wind I could never be called religious.

My mother was a committed Christian and a regular churchgoer and, from a very early age, myself and my brother and sister attended Sunday school.

I started off going to St Barnabas, which was in Lord Street in Douglas, on the opposite side of the road to where the buses stop.

After a couple of years, I became a Methodist, and attended Sunday school in Pulrose. On Friday evenings I was a Salvationist, because the ’Sallys’ showed films for the local kids. The makeshift cinema, known as the hut, was between the youth club, (now the Pinewood pub) and the Methodist church.

But, when I was about 14 or 15, I reverted to my roots and became an Anglican again. This was because of two discoveries.

Girls, and the fact that St Georges had a snooker table in their youth club.

I was always a model Sunday school pupil. Much to my mother’s delight, I won many prizes, including a bible, a prayer book and many others.

My success, however, was the result of a good memory, and not religious fervour.

It all ended when I became seventeen and started work.

What Sunday school did give me, however, were many memories, especially of the two main Christian festivals, Christmas and Easter.

At Christmas, there was always a concert in the church, staged by members of the congregation and overseen by sister Eleanor, the lady in charge, and the Sunday School superintendent, Alan Killip, whose day job was in the police.

The title of superintendent must have suited him, because he rose to that rank in the force.

Also there was usually a sale. People used to make things, and bake cakes and so on. I remember helping my father make countless small tables and stools, which were always in great demand.

Interestingly, the only time he set foot in the church was when he delivered his goods. He did all of his worshipping in the buffet bar in Douglas railway station.

The other main memory was of the picnic on Easter Monday. Our family, along with many others, used to take the train from Douglas to Port Soderick to roll our eggs.

For the benefit of all those who have never rolled an egg, listen up.

First off, you had to pick a load of dandelions and boil them up to make a yellow dye.

Then you hard boiled your eggs, and dipped them in the dye. Then when that was dry, you got your paint box out and decorated the egg with coloured patterns.

Then you took it to Port Soderick on Easter Monday and rolled it down a hill. And then you ate it.

You couldn’t make it up. But that’s what we did.

I think that ’rolling the egg’ was a symbolic rolling of the stone from the mouth of the cave where the body of Christ had been placed. But I am happy to be corrected by the more knowledgeable.

During the late 1940’s and early 1950’s, that is what we did. In the years following the second world war, money was tight and families were hard up.

We actually looked forward to our Easter picnics at Port Soderick. Easter Monday was the day we had fun.

I am not a churchgoer and I am not religious in any way, but I mourn the passing of simple times and simple pleasures, and regret the commercial hijacking of the way we were.

But I’ve got my memories. And, don’t forget, it was having a good memory that won me all those prizes at Sunday school.

I hope that when we eventually meet face to face, that the keeper of the Pearly Gates has a good memory. It’s been a long time since I went to Sunday school.

I’m just off to pick some dandelions.