During the spring of 1940 the army of the Third Reich rampaged westward through the Low Countries and France. As the danger to the Channel Islands became imminent, the British Government arranged evacuations for those who wished to leave. They also withdrew all British troops from the islands leaving them demilitarised and defenceless.

No one told the Germans.

High-level reconnaissance by the Germans proved inconclusive as regards the level of defences in the islands. On the late afternoon of 28th June three Heinkel bombers left Cherbourg to find out. Here at La Rocque they made a low level sweep, machine-gunning the vicinity. Three people were killed instantly outside their homes.

The bombers went on to attack St Helier and St Peter Port harbours with 41 further deaths and many injuries.

They got their answer. There were no defences. Two days later the Occupation began.

The de Carteret family, of Normandy stock, have been around in Jersey for nearly 1,000 years. For most of that time they have owned St Ouen’s Manor in the north-west of the Island.

St Ouen’s Manor 1904 (credit Jerripedia)

In 1467 the Seigneur, Sir Philippe de Carteret was peacefully fishing in St Ouen’s Pond, then part of the manorial land. It was during the years of the little-known French Occupation. French soldiers crept up on Sir Philippe, whereupon he mounted his horse and rode for his life.

St Ouen’s Pond

It is over a mile, and up a steep escarpment, from the pond to the Manor. His horse tiring, Sir Philippe reached the deep, narrow valley named Les Charrières, just south of the Manor. He would only escape the French if the horse could leap across the chasm. He urged the horse on and just made the other side. The French could not follow and Sir Philippe was safe.

Les Charrieres – was the epic leap here?

Or here?

But, exhausted by its efforts the horse dropped dead at the entrance to the Manor. Sir Philippe ordered that a portrait be made of the horse and that it be buried in the Manor grounds.

In 1904, bones were unearthed at the Manor. They were send to the British Museum who concluded that they belonged to a horse which had died over 400 years previously.

Today, if you are lucky enough to gain admittance to the Great Hall, you can see both the portrait and a bone of the hero horse.

The Channel Islands were occupied by Nazi invaders between July 1940 and May 1945. During that time there was inevitable fraternisation between the often charming and handsome German soldiers and local women. Only the women could attest to their motives, though physical attraction and love would often have been present. Some though tended to side with their German lovers and against their neighbours, maybe to obtain extra rations or other favours. The women were known as Jerry bags, and the worst of these in Jersey was Alexandrine Baudains, or Ginger Lou.

Pic credit theislandwiki.org

Mistress of a high-ranking German officer she identified herself completely with the ‘Master Race’. She would drive around in a chauffeur-driven car, flaunting her favoured status. Given the opportunity she would denounce or ‘shop’ anyone to the Nazis for minor acts of defiance or resistance. If she saw a queue outside a shop she might go in and buy all of the precious rationed goods, leaving the queue to disperse.
When the Channel Islands were liberated in May 1945, she lay low, fearing reprisals. She was wise to do as, when she ventured out for a spot of fresh air, she was set upon in Seaton Place by a crowd, mainly women. She was saved from being lynched from a lamp post by members of the British Army and she and her son were taken into police custody for their own safety. There they remained for 11 months until a journalist discovered their whereabouts.

Old wounds were opened and the pair were ejected from prison to be taken in by the Little Sisters of the Poor. From there they were packed onto a boat for England with instructions never to return.

I wonder what became of them?

Sources – Doctor John Lewis, Roy McLoughlin, theislandwiki.org

I’m presently doing a bit of tour guiding at Jersey’s Mont Orgueil (Gorey Castle). In the interests of engaging with a group I’ll often ask them ‘Who was Jersey’s most famous man?’ ‘Bergerac’ is the usual answer. (Correct answer, subjective or not, is George Carteret who at least has a connection with the castle.)

Most famous woman? A few guess Lillie Langtry, and this time they’d be correct. I’ve blogged about the Jersey Lily before. I recently read about Lillie’s friendship with Oscar Wilde, and in particular Wilde’s infatuation with her, and his poems dedicated to her.

Wilde right centre with top hat, the Lily in white next to him. Pic credit Jerripedia.

WHERE hast thou been since round the walls of Troy
The sons of God fought in that great emprise?
Why dost thou walk our common earth again?
Hast thou forgotten that impassioned boy,
His purple galley, and his Tyrian men,
And treacherous Aphrodite’s mocking eyes?
For surely it was thou, who, like a star
Hung in the silver silence of the night,
Didst lure the Old World’s chivalry and might
Into the clamorous crimson waves of war!
(from The New Helen)

Celebrated in London’s high society, Lillie was introduced to Wilde in 1877. She was 24 and he was a year younger. They became friends and associates and remained so for many years.

I remember we used to meet
By an ivied seat,
And you warbled each pretty word
With the air of a bird
(From To L.L.)

The indications are that the flamboyant Wilde was far more attracted physically to Mrs Langtry than the other way around. However, in later life, Lillie was said to always have a place laid at dinner in honour of him. (Did they ever sleep together? We can always ponder.)

And your eyes, they were green and grey
Like an April day,
But lit into amethyst
When I stooped and kissed
(From To L.L.)

Wilde wrote the classically-styled The New Helen in Lillie’s honour in 1879, and later, another entitled To L.L. The latter is rarely listed in a list of Wilde’s poetry. I’m not surprised, in fact it might have been wrongly attributed, but personally I like it better.

You were always afraid of a shower,
Just like a flower:
I remember you started and ran
When the rain began
(From To L.L.)

27 days and I’ll be free.

It was in the summer of ’71 that I rocked up at the staff entrance of Eagle Star Insurance in Birmingham to start my first job. I lasted six weeks.

Whatever happened to them?

Still, it was long enough for me to earn enough to buy my first single (Suspicious Minds – Elvis) and first album (Sounds of Silence – Simon & Garfunkel). My one abiding memory of Eagle Star was of the woman who signed in the staff, drawing a red line at 9.03am to heap shame on those arriving a few minutes late. I was often to be found below that line.

Whatever happened to him?

Strangely, those six weeks have long since been airbrushed from my c.v. Did they even happen?

So I’ll have been gainfully employed for 48 years, which I guess is par for the course. I can’t particularly afford to retire, but in that respect I’ll be in no better position next year or the year after. So I’m getting out at the right time, and for the right reasons. As a professional accountant I’ve long since lost interest in keeping up to date technically. The young kids coming through are light years ahead in that regard. And neither am I as sharp and accurate as I was. I could battle on for a while yet, but I no longer enjoy flogging into work every day.

Plans ahead? Yes, some vague ideas, but I aim to kick back for a little while at least and enjoy the sensation of not being under work pressure. Certainly I’ll find plenty to do – my neglected writing for one, various bits of voluntary activity on the other. (Jersey has a huge population of volunteers, particularly amongst the retired classes.) At the moment, for example, I’m enjoying doing a bit of tour guiding for Jersey Heritage, showing visitors around the fabulous Mont Orgueil. It seems I might have been repressing an inclination to take to the stage.

Mont Orgueil, 800 years and counting.

As my 27 days tick away I may reflect in this somewhat stuttering blog on my work career.