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 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.

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.

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.

See here for Part 1 and here for Part 2.

On 10th July 1971 around 11.45pm a car jumped the lights at Georgetown, just east of St Helier, and drove off erratically. Police Constables Riseborough and McGinn, on mobile patrol, gave chase. It was hair-raising as the Morris 1100 attempted to evade the chasers for several miles. Had the driver simply stopped at the outset and apologised he might have got away with it I imagine.

He was eventually caught and arrested and taken to police HQ. Over the ensuing hours it became clear, by the man’s dress and the contents of his pockets and car, that this was no ordinary arrest. It was Edward John Louis Paisnel, 46, The Beast of Jersey. A building contractor, well-known and respected, married with a daughter and two step-children.

Searches of his house at Grouville revealed the extent of his activities and of his interests and mindset. His wife Joan professed to know nothing of her husband’s nocturnal activities.

He was charged on 13 counts and was quickly found guilty and sentenced to 30 years. He served 20 years in Winchester Gaol and was released after being a model prisoner. Astonishingly, he sought to return to Jersey but no one here was having it. He moved to the Isle of Wight where, three years later in 1994, he died of a heart attack.

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For a more detailed account you should visit the excellent True Crime Enthusiast website.

Following on from Part 1, the people of Jersey were now scared, as you can imagine, especially in the country parishes. Left to their own devices, the Jersey police were getting nowhere. They called in Scotland Yard in the shape of DS Jack Mannings, a well-known adversary of the Kray Brothers in London’s gangland.

He set to work, compiling an identikit of the Beast and challenging the Jersey public to help find him. No man was above suspicion and many interviews took place. These included the loner Alphonse Le Gastelois who, relentlessly hounded by police and public, took himself off to the Écréhous reef in a 14-year exile.

No one was apprehended, but things went quiet. There were no further incidents until

• April 1963. A nine-year-old boy in St Saviour was attacked with a similar MO as before.
• November 1963. An 11-year-old boy was attacked, again in St Saviour.
• July 1964. A ten-year-old girl in Trinity was attacked.
• August 1964. A 16-year-old boy in Grouville was attacked.

Things went quiet again. Was he gone? In 1966 the police received a letter.

My Dear Sir,
               I think that it is just the time to tell you that you are just wasting your time, as every time I have done wat I always intended to do and remember it will not stop at this, but I will be fair to you and give you a chance. I have never had much out of this life but I intend to get everything I can now…..I have always wanted to do the perfect crime. I have done this, but this time let the moon shine very britte in September because this time it must be perfect, not one but two. I am not a maniac by a long shot but I like to play with you people. You will hear from me before September and I will give you all the clues. Just to see if you can catch me.

• August 1966. A 15-year-old girl was savagely raped in Trinity.
• December 1966. 20-year-old Tuula Hoeoek, a Finnish au pair, was murdered, her skull smashed to pieces. This doesn’t form part of the Beast’s official litany of attacks. I wonder why, as the MO was remarkably similar to his other attacks – victim picked up at bus stop, dragged into to a field etc. The extreme violence, maybe provoked by Tuula’s spirited resistance, was taking things to a new level though.

Maybe even the Beast was shocked as there was peace and quiet until

• August 1970. A 13-year-old boy in Vallee des Vaux was dragged from his bed and indecently assaulted. Scratches on the boy’s body were identical to those found after the August 1966 attack.

It was, mercifully, to be the last reported attack.

But who and where was he?

The true story of The Beast is old news really, so much so that I hesitate even to blog about it. I’ve nothing new to add. However it’s strange that he (for The Beast indeed eventually proved male) has faded from the general consciousness over the years. For most of the island population it’s only a hazy story, half-remembered. And when, towards the end of my guided tours of Mont Orgueil, I ask our visitors to the Island ‘Do you know of the Beast of Jersey?’ there is invariably a collective bemused look and a shaking of heads, whereupon I relate an abbreviated version.

So here follows the story as I know it. As I say, there’s nothing new. What follows is from sources freely accessible which I’ll credit at the end of the story. I only wish I had access to the police records of the time.

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• November 1957. The first strike of the Beast, as he was later to become known. A 29-year-old nurse, waiting for a bus at Mont a L’Abbé, was dragged into a field and sexually assaulted. Many stitches required. The attacker’s face was covered and he was said to have an ‘Irish accent.’
• March 1958. A 20-year-old woman walking from a bus stop in Trinity was dragged into a field and raped.
• July 1958. A 31-year-old woman, also walking home from a bus stop was dragged into a field and sexually assaulted.
  
  You see a pattern emerging.
  
• August 1959. A young girl walking home in Grouville, dragged into a field and sexually assaulted.
• October 1959. A 28-year-old woman indecently assaulted in St Martin, but fought off her assailant.

Two years of attacks, almost certainly by the same person, who was about 5’6”, maybe mid-40s, affecting an Irish-type accent and he smelled ‘musty’. The Jersey police were no nearer to him. There were also recurring themes in the attacker’s modus operandi though now they changed, and not for the better.

• February 1960. A 12-year-old boy, asleep in his bed in the Grands Vaux area, was awoken and a rope placed around his neck. He was led outside and indecently assaulted.
• March 1960. In St Brelade, a woman accepted a lift from a man who said he was a doctor. He drove into a field, dragged the woman out of a car, tied her hands up and raped her. Thrown back into the car, the woman then managed to escape.
• March 1960 again. In St Martin, a 43-year-old mother was awakened by a noise downstairs at about 1.30am. Going down to investigate she heard someone in the living room but, on attempting to telephone the police, she found the wires had been pulled out. She was confronted by a man who grabbed her, demanded money and threatened to kill her. Hearing the woman’s 14-year-old daughter coming downstairs to investigate, the man left and the woman dashed out to a nearby house to raise the alarm. On her return, her daughter had been brutally raped.

Had the Beast finished? Read on.

In 1935 my character Tess in A Jersey Midsummer Tale bought an apple at Newman’s Cash Stores while considering what to do about Robin, a young man who waited outside for her.

85 years later she might be surprised to see the present shop on the site at Red Houses is rather bigger, but I guess she could still buy an apple there.

In Jersey we have our big historical set pieces; Mont Orgueil, Elizabeth Castle, the amazing Neolithic structure which is La Hougue Bie. Scattered around are the few dolmens that remain more or less intact. We have the world-renowned Paleolithic cave structure of La Cotte.

But within our 9 x 5 island there is so much more of historical and social interest everywhere, all around. Often you might not see or notice these bits and pieces. To be honest, they may not be of huge interest to everyone.

But here are a few example I’ve collected in the last couple of days with easy walking distance of where I live.

Milestone
I’ve been past this hundreds of times without noticing it. It reads ‘St.C 1’, meaning it’s in the parish of St Clement and it’s one mile from the Royal Square in St Helier. See how the later wall is carefully shaped around it. As you can see, there it is, marked on an 1849 map, to the right of the map.

Disused railway platform
Moving on to the FB Fields, on land gifted to Jersey by Florence Boot née Rowe, a Jersey girl who married Jesse Boot, the founder of the chemist chain. Here is the back edge of the platform of the former Grève d’Azette railway station that ran alongside the fields until it ceased operations in 1929.

Changing rooms
And, just a little further along, what is grandly referred to as a ‘Pavilion’ on the 1935 map. Changing rooms serving the further reaches of the FB Fields. Let me tell you that cramming a team of cricketers and their gear into one of the small changing rooms within is mission impossible.

Concrete square
This is a curiosity that people walk by without a second glance. It looks suspiciously German, possible a gun mount, but I can’t find any reference to it. It’s a handy resting place anyway. [Edit: it’s a water tank previously used to water the fields.]

Main Pavilion
A lovely building, probably built in the 1920s. It’s given great service to generations of sportsmen and women.

Cricket nets
And finally (for now) our lovely cricket nets which I remember being opened by (I believe) Derek Randall and now in rack and ruin through lack of maintenance.

Long ago in Jersey, Hubert was engaged to be married to Madeleine. Hubert liked to go for long walks and one night his walk took him to Rocqueberg Point, where he fell asleep next to the great rock there. When he awoke the rock had gone. He was in a magic wood surrounded by beautiful girls dancing among the trees. Hubert danced with them, and promised to return the following night. Hubert told Madeleine his story and she warned him not to return there, but Hubert decided to go.

Madeleine hurried to the priest and he advised her to take a crucifix and follow Hubert. She did so, to find him dancing gaily with some ugly old witches. When Madeleine held the crucifix up the witches vanished, shrieking. Hubert was saved.

And to this day you can still see the Devil’s cloven hoofmark on the rock.

Hardly matching the Irish diaspora, but you’ll find Jersey surnames all over the world, principally on the Gaspé Peninsula, Quebec, a reminder of the flourishing cod fishing days there.

But a more unusual link is that created by Philippe L’Escaudé of St Ouen, the parish situated in the far north-west of Jersey. It turns out that he’s the great-great-great grandfather of William Cody, or Buffalo Bill. Philippe was born in Jersey in 1668 into an old established Jersey family. At some stage Philippe emigrated, quite possibly to Canada. Along the line the surname was corrupted or amended, but the acute accent over the final ‘e’ of the surname would certainly explain how that came to be.

William’s (that is Buffalo Bill’s) father Isaac was born in 1811 in modern Ontario and his mother in Trenton, New Jersey (which itself is highly significant in Jersey’s history). William was born in Iowa in 1846. He became a hunter, soldier and Indian fighter, but his reputation was artificially enhanced by a writer, Ned Buntline, who made money out of his mostly fictional Buffalo Bill adventures.

William later became famous for his touring Wild West show, a pastiche of what life was supposedly like in those pioneering days. He died in Denver in 1917.

Today Philippe’s former Jersey homestead in St Ouen is marked by a plaque, fittingly in Jersey’s own wild west.