The big small island

10:35am Saturday 9th August 2008

Comments (0)   Have your say »

JERSEY is a little piece of Britain that finds itself almost in France. Or, if you prefer, a fragment of France long claimed by Britain.

To the first-time visitor, or certainly this one, the most southerly of the Channel Islands feels as if it belongs to both countries, or neither.

Driving through its pretty serpentine lanes, never at more than the top speed limit of 40mph, you seem to pass from Devon and Cornwall into Normandy and Brittany, without showing your passport or worrying about trying to drag dusty French phrases from whatever corner of your brain it is that looks after dusty French phrases.

Geographically, the island is more or less French, lying some 12 miles or so from St Malo, and a good hundred miles off the English coast; politically, it is linked to the British Isles, but is independent from our Parliament.

So the island is British, but not English. The locals like to draw the distinction, as we were told by two guides who led a walking tour – Murder, Muck And Mayhem – round St Hellier, the capital.

Jersey people, said the bearded member of this informative duo, were neither English nor French, “just Jersey”. The island is a “Peculiar of the Crown”, with its own government and judicial system, and a habit of calling the Queen the Duke of Normandy, which is perhaps a little peculiar in itself.

There is a lot of history in this small island, which runs nine miles east to west, and a mere five miles north to south. Some of it dates to 1066 and all that, when William the Conqueror gained the British crown after the Battle of Hastings.

After King John lost Normandy back to the French, in 1204, the islanders had to do one of those annoying “either/or” surveys. In this case, the question concerned being French or British. The islanders chose Britain, and that’s the way it has been ever since, and the eccentric naming of our monarch is a throw-back to those days.

During the Second World War, the island was occupied for five years by the Germans after Britain decided there was no strategic benefit in defending Jersey. That difficult period, which pleased Hitler no end, letting him believe he had claimed a bit of Britain, is recaptured in a very good museum.

The Jersey War Tunnels is cleverly and movingly sited in an underground hospital, which was hewn from the granite by labourers forcibly transported to the island from the conquered parts of Europe.

The wartime stories told embrace those Jersey people who left for the duration, living temporarily in Britain, and those who remained, some losing their lives in acts of rebellion against the Nazis, others becoming too friendly with the occupiers.

But let’s return to those twisting roads that thread across an island once known for agriculture, boatbuilding, fishing and knitwear, but now more dependent on tourism and off-shore finance, although the famous potatoes still sell nicely.

We disembarked from the Condor ferry and drove out of St Hellier port towards the northern coast on arrival three weeks ago, looking for La Crete Fort, at Bonne Nuit Bay. Many hot-and-bothersome U-turns later, we found the bumpy track hidden behind a hotel, leading to a fort that commands a rocky headland.

Our home for the next week was one of a number of historic properties rented out by Jersey Heritage. La Crete Fort dates to the early 1830s, was occupied by the Germans during the war and once, according to one of the tour guides mentioned earlier, was favoured as a weekend retreat by the Governor of Jersey.

Cosy and cheerfully eccentric, with a small kitchen overlooking Bonne Nuit Bay, a lounge, a bedroom, shower-room and lavatory, the fort also boasted a huge and chilly upstairs hall, with shuttered slits for windows. We didn’t use this impressive but vaguely unsettling room much, although the 16-year-old colonised it with his electric guitar, making sounds the likes of which the fort had probably never heard before.

Outside, there was a sunken walled area, with access to the cliff top and wonderful seascape views.

The north of the island is sparsely populated and the coast has a rugged beauty. The non-teenage members of our party enjoyed pre-breakfast walks along the coastal paths. The climbs were strenuous, but the stunning views easily compensated for the effort.

During our week in the north, we visited assorted bays and beaches, including Plemont, which disappears entirely at high tide. We also spent a rewarding day at the zoo created in 1959 by Gerald Durrell, the writer and broadcaster. This is mostly known as Durrell, but has the fuller title of the Durrell Wildlife Conservation Trust.

Whatever you wish to call it, this is a lovely zoo, a zoo with a higher purpose of conservation, and a fully fascinating place to visit.

From gorillas and orang-utans, via assorted monkeys, snakes and lizards, there is so much to see here.

For all the pleasures on offer, hardly anything topped the Asian otters, which are sleek show-offs and so friendly seeming, or the inquisitive meerkats. A family ticket cost around £35 for four, which seemed good value for a whole day out.

While Jersey Heritage provided our first week’s accommodation, we booked our own for the second week, via a company called Macoles. We stayed in a cottage on a farm, two miles from St Aubin’s on the south of the island, close to St Hellier.

The south of the island is busier and more touristy, and even boasts traffic jams, of all the urban things.

Still, St Aubin’s is a lovely seaside village, with a harbour to walk round, and many bars and restaurants (the pizzas at Murrays were among the best this family has had). Away from the coast and the traffic, the countryside was soft and French-seeming.

During our second week, we explored St Hellier a number of times, and tried different beaches, returning often to St Ouen’s Bay (pronounced St Ones) on the west coast, where the swimming was good and the rarely-aired Cole trunks had a salty ducking.

We also visited Mont Orgueil Castle, which overlooks the picturesque bay at Gorey. The castle dates to the 13th century and was built to defend Jersey from the French after King John lost control of Normandy to King Philip of France. Various wooden sculptures, life-sized and in some cases much larger, are hidden around the maze of walls, rooms, tunnels and turrets. These striking creations help tell the history of the castle and the island, and life in medieval times, while also adding another dimension to the visit.

We did less elevated activities too, including two visits to the cinema, ten-pin bowling, and crazy golf during a heat wave, which was a crazy thing to do, but fun.

Like the good doctor’s Tardis, Jersey looks small from the outside but is bigger once you step inside. There is so much so see and do, and all within a short, if sometimes hairy, drive.

It’s not cheap, but no dearer than France when the Euro is high. Will we return? Oh, certainly. I even had foolish holiday fantasies about moving there, until my wife read the small print. Apparently, you need a bit more in the bank. About £20 million or so. Oh well, there are always more holidays.

Fact file

•Jersey Heritage Trust has properties around the island and can be contacted via www.jerseyheritagetrust.org

•Julian sailed with Condor Ferries, from Poole to St Hellier. The ferry is quick, taking only three hours, but can be choppy. It is also possible to fly and hire a car, which avoids the 600-mile round trip from York (www.condorferries.co.uk/uk)

•Further information can be found on www.jersey.com