And change is on the way. The States reformed in 1948. He also mentions Ivy Forster, the first woman elected to States 1948 as deputy in St Helier. And changes emerging in respect of a drive towards pensions, sickness benefit etc, none of which existed back in 1950, and still would take some years to come.
My thanks to Anne Pryke for tweeting the identity card of Ivy Forster which is shown above.
Whither O Splendid Island? – Part 2
by Sidney Bisson
by Sidney Bisson
Whilst you were alive, the laws of curatorship prevented you from spending it unwisely. To a certain extent they still do, but as the only form of waste that our legislators envisaged was on drink, it does not take us very far today.
The procedure is worth recording. If any citizen is thought to be spending too much of his substance on drink, he may be reported to the Royal Court, which then orders witnesses to be heard. Should the facts be established by the evidence, the Court appoints a `curator' to the `interdict.' The curator undertakes all his business, receives his income and pays his debts (which cannot, of course, be contracted without the curator's authority), and doles out to him every week what he considers an appropriate amount of pocket money.
The law protects in the same way adults who show signs of eccentricity or mental derangement, as the wealthy Lady Houston discovered to her cost when she took up her residence in the island. Her unusual methods of handling a large fortune shocked the thrifty Jersey folk. The customary information was laid, and evidence having been heard, a curator was appointed to take charge of her affairs on the grounds of her eccentricity.
But Lady Houston was a woman of spirit. Both in cases of intemperance and eccentricity, the law provides for the withdrawal of the curatorship as soon as it can be shown that the cause which prompted its imposition has been removed. Lady Houston lost no time in calling in London specialists, who testified that she was perfectly capable of managing her own affairs. In the face of such evidence the curatorship had to be removed.
I imagine that if those who framed these laws lived today they would include as reasons for appointing a curator excessive expenditure not only on drink, but on football pools, dances, and cinemas. But times have changed. Nobody would dream of amending the law to include other causes besides drink as warranting the appointment of a curator. That would be regarded as unwarrantable interference with the right of the subject to spend his money as he likes.
Instead we have at last been brought round to the English way of thinking. Rather than deal specifically with cases of people we know to be improvident, let us, like the English, treat everyone as being quite incapable of managing his own affairs. Let us not merely interfere with the liberty of a few but with that of everybody. For if we compel everyone to pay a portion of his salary as a contribution towards unemployment benefit, health insurance, old-age pensions, and the rest, are we not interfering with the right of every subject to spend his money as he chooses? But these things are bound to come.
They are at the moment being actively discussed. When we adopt them, our last claim to superiority over the English will have vanished. For we will at last have kidded ourselves like the English that what the State provides we do not pay for. Like Summer Time, which makes us kid ourselves that we are not getting up any earlier because our watches are an hour out. That, as far as I can gather, is the argument of the so-called `reactionary element' in our island parliament. That is what the old fellow who objected to the maid's fur coat must have had in mind.
The snag is the premise on which the argument is based. If it was ever true (and I doubt it) that everybody could earn it living if he liked and that poverty and want were synonymous with laziness and improvidence, it is certainly a fallacy under our present economic system. Whatever my fellow islanders may have thought, England's two million unemployed before the war were not all twiddling their thumbs because they liked it. And if there is enough work for everyone at the moment, there is no guarantee that this happy state of affairs is going to last forever.
Which is why our younger generation is so anxious to get on with the job of introducing up to date social legislation, based on the new idea (new at any rate to the island) that thrift is not sufficient insurance against old age, ill-health, and unemployment, and that those who earn a comfortable living should help to compensate those who don't, or can't.
As an essential preliminary they demanded parliamentary reform, and obtained it without anything remotely resembling a revolution. The States, realising the strength of public opinion, accepted the principle that some kind of reform was necessary to make the government more representative of the will of the people, and submitted their proposals to the Crown `in order that the pleasure of His Majesty on them might be ascertained.'
During the summer of 1946 a Committee of the Privy Council under the chairmanship of the Home Secretary was appointed to examine the proposals, and visited the island to hear evidence on the desire of the islanders for reform.
Their report, which was published the following spring, endorsed most of the proposals that had been made-by the States. Its principal recommendation was that life membership of the States should be abolished, so that instead of being a kind of combined House of Lords and Commons, the island parliament would become a purely elective assembly.
Instead we have at last been brought round to the English way of thinking. Rather than deal specifically with cases of people we know to be improvident, let us, like the English, treat everyone as being quite incapable of managing his own affairs. Let us not merely interfere with the liberty of a few but with that of everybody. For if we compel everyone to pay a portion of his salary as a contribution towards unemployment benefit, health insurance, old-age pensions, and the rest, are we not interfering with the right of every subject to spend his money as he chooses? But these things are bound to come.
They are at the moment being actively discussed. When we adopt them, our last claim to superiority over the English will have vanished. For we will at last have kidded ourselves like the English that what the State provides we do not pay for. Like Summer Time, which makes us kid ourselves that we are not getting up any earlier because our watches are an hour out. That, as far as I can gather, is the argument of the so-called `reactionary element' in our island parliament. That is what the old fellow who objected to the maid's fur coat must have had in mind.
The snag is the premise on which the argument is based. If it was ever true (and I doubt it) that everybody could earn it living if he liked and that poverty and want were synonymous with laziness and improvidence, it is certainly a fallacy under our present economic system. Whatever my fellow islanders may have thought, England's two million unemployed before the war were not all twiddling their thumbs because they liked it. And if there is enough work for everyone at the moment, there is no guarantee that this happy state of affairs is going to last forever.
Which is why our younger generation is so anxious to get on with the job of introducing up to date social legislation, based on the new idea (new at any rate to the island) that thrift is not sufficient insurance against old age, ill-health, and unemployment, and that those who earn a comfortable living should help to compensate those who don't, or can't.
As an essential preliminary they demanded parliamentary reform, and obtained it without anything remotely resembling a revolution. The States, realising the strength of public opinion, accepted the principle that some kind of reform was necessary to make the government more representative of the will of the people, and submitted their proposals to the Crown `in order that the pleasure of His Majesty on them might be ascertained.'
During the summer of 1946 a Committee of the Privy Council under the chairmanship of the Home Secretary was appointed to examine the proposals, and visited the island to hear evidence on the desire of the islanders for reform.
Their report, which was published the following spring, endorsed most of the proposals that had been made-by the States. Its principal recommendation was that life membership of the States should be abolished, so that instead of being a kind of combined House of Lords and Commons, the island parliament would become a purely elective assembly.
The Rectors of the twelve parishes (except the Dean) should, it was suggested, be replaced by elected Deputies. The Jurats should be replaced by a new class of members (they have since been officially christened `Senators') who should be elected for a longer term than the Deputies.
The Jurats still in office would continue to serve as judges of the Royal Court, but it was proposed that their successors should be appointed by an electoral college composed of the States, the Royal Court, and senior barristers and solicitors.
The committee did not approve of the principle of electing judges by popular vote. It is rather surprising that it did not mention, even en passant, the curious local custom of electing policemen, for except in St. Helier, which also has a paid police force, all the police are part-time honorary workers, who are elected for varying terms of years according to their grade.
In spite of some opposition, the States have passed legislation to implement the suggestions of the committee, so that the electors now return twelve Senators and twenty-eight Deputies in addition to the Constables of the twelve parishes. As a result of the first election of members for the reformed assembly, a woman sits in the States as a Deputy for the first time [Ivy Forster].
The Jurats still in office would continue to serve as judges of the Royal Court, but it was proposed that their successors should be appointed by an electoral college composed of the States, the Royal Court, and senior barristers and solicitors.
The committee did not approve of the principle of electing judges by popular vote. It is rather surprising that it did not mention, even en passant, the curious local custom of electing policemen, for except in St. Helier, which also has a paid police force, all the police are part-time honorary workers, who are elected for varying terms of years according to their grade.
In spite of some opposition, the States have passed legislation to implement the suggestions of the committee, so that the electors now return twelve Senators and twenty-eight Deputies in addition to the Constables of the twelve parishes. As a result of the first election of members for the reformed assembly, a woman sits in the States as a Deputy for the first time [Ivy Forster].
It is too early to say how much difference the new constitution will make to the prosperity of the island and the well-being of the islanders. Until the arrival of the committee, the prospect of a new constitution was viewed with enthusiasm, and even a considerable amount of excitement. When the islanders had been allowed to express their views, the prospects of the next potato or tomato or visitor season soon ousted reform as a subject of discussion.
These are, in fact, the things around which our life circles (and having decided to stay in Jersey I can now start talking as a resident instead of as a visitor) it is on them more than on a new constitution that our future depends.
At the moment the barometer is set fair. The last two tomato seasons have been good. The Colorado beetle, which for a time prevented the export of potatoes to England, has been practically wiped out. Visitors continue to come to the island in increasing numbers. And our local chancellor of the exchequer manages to balance his budgets without fresh taxation. The optimists are in clover.
Only the most confirmed pessimists see a tiny cloud on the horizon, and remind us that our history is a continual record of industries being allowed to peter out. Knitting, cider making, shipping, shipbuilding, oyster fishing . . . All helped to swell our pockets for a while, then passed into oblivion.
What happens next, if history repeats itself?
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