The Great War 1914-18 didn’t touch the Channel Islands directly. True, many Jerseymen joined up to fight, and many never returned. And a POW camp popped up on the sand dunes with hundreds of Germans enjoying a little holiday there. But generally speaking, life in our quiet island continued as normal.

On the site of the present day Highlands College was a Jesuit school, Notre Dame de Bon Secours. On 6th July 1915 a group of students set off for their annual picnic with a school master. Their destination was Portelet Bay on Jersey’s south-west coast.

The weather was poor – cloudy and windy. Nonetheless the boys, seeing the tide receding, decided to bathe. Few were able to swim, but ventured into the shallower waters off the western edge of the causeway leading over to Janvrin’s tomb.

It appears that a large wave swept the boys over the causeway to the deeper waters on the other side.

Eight boys were drowned.

During their five years uninvited stay with us, it was inevitable that a number of Nazi Germany’s forces passed away. Natural causes accounted for many. There were drownings, accidents and the odd suicide and execution. In the latter months particularly, growing numbers died at the General Hospital after sustaining battle wounds in France or in the seas around the Channel Islands. Shortage of anaesthetic at that stage meant that many died badly.

The bodies were added to those who were prisoners of war here during WW1 but who passed away during their stay.

Most were interred at St Brelade’s churchyard. Below are then-and-now shots of the Rectory grounds. The first (thank you Peter Knight) was taken in 1947 and shows a number of marked graves. The wooden crosses replaced the original iron crosses. These graves were eventually moved across the road into the main churchyard. The second image is from much the same spot, taken today.

This is the main German cemetery in 1945, presumably after the Occupation (credit Jerripedia).

In 1961 the bodies were exhumed and re-interred at the military cemetery at Mont de Huisnes, St Malo, France.

Yesterday I picket up my pocket camera and headed off for a nice easy run. This particular spot in the south-west corner of the island has always fascinated me. It’s on the Railway Walk, the course of the railway which ceased to operate in 1935.

The track to the left was the 1885 original, running over to the quarry at La Moye, now used by the Jersey Waterworks Company.

In 1899 the extension to the Corbière Pavilion was laid – this heads off to the right and this is the how the old Corbière station looks today.

That rock in the foreground is the Table des Marthes, Neolithic, but little else about it is known.

Returning to the top picture, after the extension was laid the left branch was abandoned, but for a while there existed a temporary request halt right at the spot where the bench stands. It was named The Temporary.

Recently we here in Jersey were treated to a lovely little playlet which portrayed six ‘forgotten’ Jersey women, those that defied convention and helped others to follow on more easily. I’ve blogged before about the ‘Surreal Sisters’ Lucie Schwob and Suzanne Malherbe. Others to feature were Caroline Trachy (politics), Elinor Glyn (literature) and Florence Boot née Rowe (philanthropist).

In truth, Lilian Mary Grandin was never entirely forgotten, but maybe one Jersey resident in a hundred would recognise the name today. We think nothing these days of women doctors, but it was noteworthy in the extreme until fairly recent times.

Ms Grandin was born in Regent Road in 1876, where a plaque commemorates that fact. She was educated at Jersey Ladies College. A devout Methodist, she was determined to serve as a missionary. To this end she studied medicine and chemistry in Edinburgh, midwifery in Dublin (no doubt at the Rotunda) and tropical and eye diseases in London. She was sent off to Yunnan Province in China where she was to spend what remained of her life.

Pupils from Jersey College for Girls visit Grandin’s grave in 2014.

In Yunnan she set up a clinic and leper colony and trained many Chinese women as nurses. In 1912 she married the author Edwin Dingle but continued with her profession.

In 1924 she developed typhus symptoms, but gave her remaining dose of typhus medicine to a patient. She died a short time later, aged just 48.

Commemorative stamps issued in 1976

The clinic she founded in Yunnan is now a hospital which treats 60,000 patients a year. There Grandin is remembered as the Angel of Zhoutong.

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 sent 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. Edit 12.3.21 – the artist was William Powell Frith.

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.