Jersey Our Island: Another Glory – Part 2

Published in 1950, this is an interesting snapshot of the Island and its customs as it was in the immediate post-war period, and not without humour. Most guide books of the time give the tourist information, or give the impressions of an outsider to the Island, but this is in "inside view", which is rarer.

Jersey Our Island: Another Glory – Part 2

By Sidney Bisson

I had to break off the old man's flow of reminiscences at last, as I had promised myself a visit to a place far older than any of the traditions he could recall the prehistoric tomb of La Hougue Bie. When I told him this, he asked me if I knew the legend of the place. I did, but I let him tell it in his own way before I left him.

`Time past,' it appears, the pest that ravaged Jersey was not the Colorado beetle but an enormous fire-breathing dragon. As there was nobody in Jersey capable of standing up to it, the inhabitants had to call in a well-known dragon slayer, the Lord of Hambie in Normandy, 'just like we had to call in an English firm, you know, to exterminate those Colorado beetles.'

When Hambie came over with his squire Francis a terrible battle took place, in which Hambie was only just successful. Seeing his master lying there exhausted with the struggle, Francis thought it would be an excellent opportunity of finishing him off, for he was head over heels in love with the Lady of Hambie. So he chopped off the Lord of Hambie's head and returned to Normandy with a long story about how his master had been mortally wounded in the fight and how his dying wish had been that

Francis `would step into his shoes.'

`Dirty dog,' I couldn't help remarking.

'Ali, but she was not so green as she was cabbage-looking. Ah, my, no!' said my farmer friend, taking a whetstone from a cow's horn filled with a dark liquid and passing it rapidly to and fro across his sickle.

The lady, in fact, demanded proof. Which the squire offered in the shape of a miniature of herself which her husband always wore next to his heart. She was convinced then that he was dead, but still not that he wanted her to marry Francis.

`I don't know too well what happened then', said the farmer, `but anyways, before the wedding he confessed. So she was lucky.'

I'm glad he believes that. The usual version is that she only discovered his guilt after the wedding, through his talking in his sleep. `Anyways,' she had a great mound built in Jersey and a chapel on top of it in memory of her husband, so that she could see it from her home in Normandy.

The mound is still there, and I can vouch for the view. Since you can see Normandy from the top of it, no doubt the Lady of Hambie could see it from her window. What is interesting, now, is what is underneath the mound.

If you pay sixpence you can see.

Archaeologists are not much impressed by legends, and a long time ago they decided that the mound was erected by no Lady of Hambie but by prehistoric man. Eventually the Société Jersiaise bought the place and its members started excavations.

Before long they brought to light an exceptionally well preserved burial chamber of the megalithic period. It is, in fact, regarded as `one of the finest memorials of its time surviving in Western Europe. It certainly attracts more visitors than any other of Jersey's many prehistoric monuments perhaps because it happens to be right along a bus route!

A spiral path leads to the top of the mound where still stands a mediaeval chapel. You can believe, if you like, that it is the one which is mentioned in the legend, but one must remember that it was the custom of the early Christian missionaries to adapt pagan monuments to Christian uses, and that is probably what happened here. A second chapel was added in the sixteenth century by Dean Mabon, a local ecclesiastic of doubtful reputation. In the crypt of his chapel Mabon erected a reproduction of the Holy Sepulchre, which he claimed to have visited, and impressed the faithful by working `miracles' with simple mechanical devices.

Another building which once stood on top of the mound (it is a huge mound, forty or fifty feet high and nearly two hundred yards round at the bottom) was the Prince's Tower, so called after the Jersey sailor who became a ruling European prince.

Philip d'Auvergne joined the Navy at an early age and had already had many amazing adventures before he was appointed First Lieutenant in the Saucy Arethusa, which started the most amazing adventure of them all.

With another young man called Horatio Nelson, he had accompanied Captain Phipps's optimistic expedition to the Arctic regions, which was intended to discover the North Pole but `not to proceed any further.' He had fought in the American War of Independence, where he took part in the siege of Boston, was wounded at the bombardment of Falmouth, and lost his first command in an action with the French.

And he was only twenty-three.

By pure chance when the Arethusa was wrecked and its crew taken prisoner, d'Auvergne came into contact with the Prince of Bouillon, which was then an independent principality on the borders of Luxemburg. For years the Prince, whose family name was also d'Auvergne, had been looking for someone to succeed him. His son was a half-crazed invalid who was neither expected to live long nor to produce an heir, and researches into the family pedigree had failed to reveal a suitable successor.

Now, struck by the similarity of their names and convinced that a family relationship existed between them; the Prince took a fancy to the young Jerseyman and decided to adopt him.

Though Philip d'Auvergne was no doubt flattered by the Prince's intentions, he nevertheless conceived it his duty to return to England when he was unexpectedly released. Having taken part in an unsuccessful expedition against the Cape of Good Hope, he was next sent on a colonising mission to the South Atlantic, where he was shipwrecked and abandoned for some time on a desert island. Rescued at last, he was able when peace was proclaimed to take up his residence with the Prince, who had now formally adopted him.

In 1791 the succession to the Duchy of Bouillon was fixed. James Leopold, the invalid son, was to succeed his father, then failing a direct heir, the throne would pass to Philip d'Auvergne. With great ceremonial he visited the Duchy and was presented to his future people.

In 1792 war broke out again, and once more d'Auvergne returned to the service of his country. This time he was appointed to the command of the Jersey Naval Station. Outwardly it was a sinecure, but secretly Captain d'Auvergne was entrusted with the organisation of assistance to the rebellious French Royalists.

It was at his headquarters at Mont Orgueil that supplies for the ill-fated Quiberon expedition were collected. It was his agents, mostly Jersey men and women, who made the perilous journey to France in small boats on dark nights and landed arms and ammunition. The tower which his soldier uncle had built on La Hougue Bie became a link in his signal service. And whilst all this was going on, first the old Prince of Bouillon, then the young James Leopold, died.

When peace was restored by the Treaty of Amiens, d'Auvergne immediately took steps to establish his claim to Bouillon, which had come under the protection of the French government. But the French, knowing his record as a supporter of the Royalist cause, put him in prison, from which he was only released on condition that he immediately left the country.

Before he had accomplished anything war had broken out again, and for the last time he returned to his post in the Navy. He was appointed first Rear-Admiral then Vice-Admiral, but the biggest prize seemed to have slipped from his grasp. Finally, however, when the French monarchy was restored and Napoleon seemed to be beaten, he was able to establish himself as Prince of Bouillon with the approval of the King of France.

His reign was not destined to be a long one. Napoleon's return from Elba plunged Europe into a new war. When he had been safely exiled to St. Helena the boundary makers got busy in Vienna. A fresh claimant had cone into the field, and although Admiral d'Auvergne's legal right to the Duchy seemed clear enough, the Congress decided against him. Broken with disappointment and impoverished by costly appeals against the decision, the sailor prince returned to England. A few months later he died in some obscure hotel.