This perfect lavoir could be nowhere else but Jersey. Deepest Jersey, in the parish of St Martin on a typically drizzly Friday morning. All you could hear at this spot this morning was the gentle sound of the stream as it merrily ran into the communal washing place and thence onwards, under the lane and cottage opposite and eventually to Queen’s Valley Reservoir.
See how well and unobtrusively the lavoir has been maintained down perhaps 200 years.
The lavoir will have been originally constructed by the landowner for use by family and neighbours, the latter perhaps expected to pay a small fee. In the near silence this morning it wasn’t difficult to imagine the local women, now long forgotten, catching up on the gossip as they did their weekly wash.
It’s a funny old time of year for Jersey Heritage. All sites are closed to the public until March, apart from Jersey Museum, which is open all year round. I’ve been taking the opportunity to re-visit the Museum several times recently.
Today I took a closer look at the Merchant’s House permanent exhibition. It is so called as the building which houses it, 9 Pier Road, was built in the early years of the 19th century by successful trader Philippe Nicolle. It is set out as it was in 1869 as the then owner, financially-stricken Dr Charles Ginestet who had married Nicolle’s widow, was preparing to flee for his native France to escape his many creditors.
Main drawing room, Merchant’s House
The exhibition features actors representing Ginestet, his wife and her sister – remarkably lifelike on film – arguing and lamenting how their comfortable life has come to this, as the vultures gather.
The Nursery. ‘Tis said that the rocking horse often rocks even when no one is near it 😮
All in all it’s an intriguing section of the museum, best absorbed when there are few other people about. Indeed today I was the first visitor of the day and as I left 90 minutes later, that was still the case.
The scene is Hamptonne Country Life Museum, Jersey
Visitor at front desk: “We thought you should know, one of your chickens is inside one of the houses, down there.” Visitor Services Assistant (VSA): “A big white cockerel?” Visitor: “Yes! It’s upstairs, in a cupboard.” VSA: “Upstairs in Syvret House? OK, that’s normal. I’ll get the gardien to shoo it out. Thanks.” *Phones gardien* “When you have a minute could you shoo the white cockerel out of Syvret House please?” Gardien: *Sighs* “OK, on my way.”
Cockerel: “Okay, okay I’m going. But I’ll go at my own pace if you please. And if I seem indignant then I have a right to. Yes, I know that I’m a cockerel and, by the customs and protocols of the world, us birds rank below humans and are governed by them. We are subject to the whims and fancies of our human masters. I don’t wish to lodge a formal complaint though, or to appear difficult. It might not end well. Anyway, I am fortunate enough here at Hamptonne. I know only too well that the majority of the world’s chickens never see the light of day. They lead a (fortunately short) life of misery until their throats are cut. Here I can wander more or less where I wish, food and water for nothing and my chicks for free.
“But, you see, I wasn’t always a bird. I was Jack Syvret and that was my family home right there. I was born in 1899, the oldest of seven children, and I was brought up there. It was a working farm then. My father was the farmer and he kept cows and sheep, grew a little grain. Mother kept house and us children did what we could. I went to the new St Lawrence School down the road, next to the church. We knew everyone in the village. Then when the war came, off I went to serve with the Jersey Pals. I didn’t last long. I was shot dead on the second day of the Battle of the Somme. I’ve come back a few times, but never before as a cockerel. See, if I’d have lived, I’d have inherited the property.”
Gardien: “OK, all done.” VSA: “Good. That cockerel thinks he owns the place.”
I did a rare shift at Jersey’s Maritime Museum the other day – front desk, selling entry tickets to (mainly) our overseas visitors. It is, by general consensus, an excellent attraction. The museum is pretty big and showcases the Island’s long maritime history in an imaginative and interactive way. Young and old enjoy it equally.
A major bonus within the building is the Occupation Tapestry Gallery. This was created in 1995 and is a classy and poignant reminder of the unhappy Occupation years and had much input by the survivors.
My 30-minute lunch break came but the usual cubby hole had an electrician working away therein. I was directed instead to the Boat Workshop, accessed through ‘no entry’ doors deep within the museum. Like Alice climbing through the looking glass I found myself in a different world I only vaguely knew existed.
Over two levels lie workshops for carpentry and related works together with a big library of seafaring books and other assorted ephemera all connected to the sea. I found a kettle, made a coffee and sat down. There on the table I glanced at a French language glossy trade magazine which could have been printed yesterday but which, upon inspection, was dated October 1992.
One of Jersey Heritage’s remits is the restoration and maintenance of the ‘Heritage Fleet’, vessels that have a long connection to the Island. This work is done mainly by enthusiastic volunteers.
The boats bob happily in the nearby harbour to be taken out for a spin around the bay when occasion permits.
Shame on me that it took me so long, and a busy electrician, to discover all this.
These days, when not sat in Jersey’s infernal traffic, I am running, albeit quite slowly. Even this gentle activity means that it is impossible to fully appreciate the finer detail of one’s surroundings. Yesterday however I had a few minutes to spare and wandered around the lanes close to Hamptonne in the parish of St Lawrence.
King Charles II Woods When Charles I was beheaded in London in 1649, his young son Charles fled into exile for a number of years. He spent five months in Jersey where Laurens Hamptonne proclaimed him the next King. Adjacent to the car park is a little area of woodland, each tree planted in remembrance of one of the signatories of the proclamation.
Jersey Fine Tea One of Jersey’s first tax dodges was the tea business. The Overseas Trading Corporation imported tea leaves from Ceylon, India etc. free of duty. They would blend and package the leaves, exporting to much of the world. The OTC has long gone but now we have Jersey Fine Tea and its boutique crop growing right next door to Hamptonne.
Eggs for sale Go right ahead, take some, pay what you think.
A Jersey Arch Peculiar to Jersey, nine stones, the height precisely twice the width.
All within a few minutes walk and all with a story to tell.
Once settled, our guests can relax in a unique Jersey environment, a real throwback to the days when the only sounds to be heard in the country were birdsong, animal talk, the occasional smatter of the ancient Jerriaise language and perhaps the clank and creak of primitive farm machinery. Within minutes the heart rate steadies. A slow walk through the orchard clears the mind, the children delight in interacting with the chickens, sheep, pigs and Jersey calves. Of less interest to them, but fascinating to our adult visitors, are the three historical buildings which once consisted a working farm. And Laurens Hamptonne himself became the first person to proclaim – in Jersey’s Royal Square – the young Charles II as the new king of England after his father was executed.
But in mid-October, for a weekend, this all changes. Even during the Middle Ages there was room for high days and holidays and Jersey has its Cider Festival, a hark back to the days when cider production was a major Island industry. Just for two days. See the horse operating the apple crusher? The pictures are by Jersey Heritage.
Don Dolbel is 96
And let me tell you that a day on the front desk at Cider Festival time leaves one as drained as any farm worker 😃
Family trees, by definition, are names linked by familial relationship. Often the names have dates attached – birth, death, marriage. At its most basic, that’s it, a science of tracing the links via documents and registers.
Much more interesting and intriguing are the stories that are sometimes attached to those names. They illustrate, illuminate and bring to life the individual, but often the life and times of those around them. Let me give you an example from a little writing assignment I’m presently engaged in.
In 1872, George and Charlotte welcomed the birth of a baby girl, Caroline in Lowestoft, Suffolk which is on the English east coast. Having trained as a nurse, young Caroline was engaged by a certain Algernon to tend to his brother Robert, who was dying. Upon Robert’s death in 1895, Caroline heard of a need for nurses at the British Seamen’s Hospital in Algiers, north Africa. She applied and was accepted. Whilst in Algiers, Caroline was engaged as companion to a Lady Cole, wife of a British diplomat. Eventually Lady Cole returned home to Edinburgh, accompanied by Nurse Caroline.
Nurse Caroline
Wishing to visit her family, Caroline took the train and waited on the platform at Thorpe Station, Norwich for the connection to her home town Lowestoft. There she was, totally by chance, recognised and hailed by members of Algernon and Robert’s family. Her address was ascertained, correspondence ensued between Algernon and Caroline and, well, the rest is family history.
The other day I took a diversion in my planned run, to La Croix cemetery here in Jersey. Here lies Caroline who, having followed her daughter to Jersey later in life, died in 1963.
There isn’t much call for thatchers here in Jersey. We have plenty of lovely, traditional granite buildings but of thatched roofs there are no more than a handful.
So when five thatchers from Devon arrived in the island a couple of weeks ago, everybody sat up and took notice. Here at Hamptonne we have three historic farm buildings, two of which have thatched roofs. It is 20 years or so since they were last attended to. It was only as they got to work with their bright, golden straw that it could be seen how overdue the work was.
It was a surprise when they initially just tidied up the existing thatch and prepared to lay the new over it. The second surprise was the thickness of the new thatch.
Scaffolding is up
The guys are a taciturn bunch. They don’t say much, but just get on with it, dawn till dusk, seven days a week though they finish a bit earlier on Sundays. We’ve had TV and radio up here filming and interviewing, reluctantly in the case of the boss thatcher. They just want to get on, finish the job and head home with a cheque in their back pocket.
One week later
Today they’re just about finishing off Hamptonne House, the former home of Laurens Hamptonne who was the first to acclaim Charles II as King when his father had his head chopped off. Shortly they’ll start on Langlois House assuming we can deal with swallow nests, bats and other impediments to work.
Hurrah, Jersey Heritage’s sites are open once more for the season. With light Covid restrictions of course but open nonetheless.
The sites are (inside) Jersey Museum and Maritime Museum (outside) La Hougue Bie, Mont Orgueil, Elizabeth Castle and Hamptonne Country Life Museum. I have the great pleasure of working two days a week at Hamptonne on the front desk.
You’d have thought it might have been quiet this morning for my first shift, especially as I’d entirely forgotten the workings of the till and associated systems, my login passwords etc. But no, Hamptonne is a regular meet-up location for nannies and childminders and in they poured on the dot of 10 o’clock, young charges in tow, old and young flying through the shop, membership passes being flashed my way, chicken food being politely demanded. Track and Trace contact details to be collected. After a while the wave subsided and I was able to draw breath.
Hamptonne House
Hamptonne sits amongst quiet lanes in the middle of Jersey, not easy to find. The buildings date back 400 years and are quite beautiful. But the local families are more interested in the animals and open spaces, a lovely place for the often town bound kids. We have chickens free-ranging around and rabbits in the stables. New this season are sheep in the meadow and piglets to replace the monster hogs that virtually needed dynamite last October to shift them to wherever fully-grown pigs go. Finally, a couple of Jersey calves, the prettiest breed of cows.
The new Hamptonne sheep
A Gardien is in overall charge of each site, a VSA (Visitor Services Assistant) at front of house. In addition there is a regular stream of volunteers. Today, for example, we had Dave as Visitor Host who took some of the heat off me at the desk whilst providing good football chat in quieter moments. There are Tour Guides and, later in the season, we’ll see a bit of Living History, guys and gals that dress and act as if in the good old days.
Like all hospitality businesses, Heritage have struggled with the pandemic but we are well supported by the government. It’s nice to be able to open on time but everyone hopes that we’ll soon be able to welcome overseas visitors once more.
My hero Bob Le Sueur just celebrated his 100th birthday. He is a legend in Jersey having lived, worked and resisted during the Occupation. As a young man and office junior he found that all of his colleagues, including his superiors, had evacuated the Island in advance of the German invasion. On telephoning his head office in the UK he was instructed to take charge, and so he did.
He spent much of his spare time during those terrible years risking his own life by organising shelter for escaped slave workers and carrying out various other acts of subversion. Since the War he has devoted much of his life to supporting various human rights causes and charities.
Now, I love my social history on a very amateur level. I enjoy seeing those black-and-white photos of old Jersey and hearing the old folk tell their stories of their youth. But it annoys me intensely to read, on an almost daily basis, the sighs and laments from those who long for those days to return.
“Look what they’ve done to Jersey.” (Whoever “they” are.) “The Island has been ruined.” “I wish I’d lived back then.”
I bite my tongue and refrain from suggesting that, should the complainers be transported back 100 years, they’d be clamouring to return to 2020 – with all its faults – before nightfall.
Bob Le Sueur, 100.
So, what does Bob have to say? Surely he looks back on his life in Jersey with fondness and regrets those things we have lost? This is what he has to say:
“I’m not someone who sighs for the good old days. I feel happy to have lived long enough to have seen so many positive improvements in our lives, in our attitudes and what we call our values.
“The position of women has improved dramatically in my lifetime, and we as a community care about the disabled. They are no longer hidden away, particularly the mentally disabled.
“I think young people today, in general, are much more aware and concerned about people in other parts of the world who are being victimised.
“I’m proud that I live in a self-governing community which has the breadth of vision to look beyond the horizon, and be a small part in the positive development of the global village.”
That’s Bob. If only there were a few more like him.
*Bob’s recently-produced memoir Growing Up Fast is available as an ebook here, and Waterstones here in Jersey has, I believe, copies of the paperback.
Back On The Rock 