The Islander: New Bishop Inducts New Dean in 1985

New Bishop Inducts New Dean in 1985

On the 18th of this month two men with new positions vis-à-vis Jersey will come together in a tradition that is hundreds of years old. One will be Bishop Colin James, recently enthroned in Winchester Cathedral, and the other Basil Arthur O'Ferrall. The Venerable Basil O'Ferrall will be sworn in as Jersey's new Dean at the Royal Court in the morning and installed and inducted by the new Bishop as Dean and Rector of St Helier in the evening.

Why should the Bishop of Winchester be involved in such an ancient ceremony? Only because in 1496, when all Channel Islands ties with Normandy had finally been broken, it was no longer considered appropriate for the Islands to be in the French Diocese of Coutances. Henry VII bribed the Pope of that time to give permission for the Channel Isles to be transferred to Salisbury. Another petition by Henry to the Pope, three years later, and a final transference was made to the Diocese of Winchester.

Habits die hard, however, and quite ignoring the Pope's Bulls, the Bishops of Coutances continued to confirm, ordain and induct in the Channel Islands. Moreover, Winchester, being even further away, seemed in no hurry to exert its proper authority. As late as 1564, we find the Bishop of Coutances, in England as French Ambassador, asking to be paid for the services he had rendered to the Channel Islands.

250 years wait

Finally, though, the Church of England decided that this Diocesan Controversy had to be resolved. In 1568 it ordered the Channel Isles to be "separated for ever from the Diocese of Coutances and perpetually united to Winchester". Did the Bishop of Winchester then set sail forthwith to fulfil his duties? Not a bit of it! Jersey men had to wait over 250 years for the first visit of their Bishop.

As Jersey had always been separated, even in the Coutances days, from its Bishop, it felt the need, soon after their Duke of Normandy conquered England, of having someone on the spot to be responsible for ecclesiastical affairs in the islands. So one Robert Merlin is mentioned as Dean of Jersey as early as 1180. But Jersey's Dean is not the same as on the mainland. His full title is "Dean of a Peculiar of the Crown" by which he is appointed. As well as being Dean, he is also Rector of a Parish — for the last 132 years of St Helier — and Judge of the Ecclesiastical Court.

In fact, so close is a Dean of Jersey's authority to that of a Bishop, that since the 14th century he has been entitled to display a crozier or crook on his official seal, just as a Bishop or Abbot would have. Today, his duties are as diverse as sitting with the St Helier Churchwardens on the Parish Wel-fare Board, and opening the proceedings of the Ecclesiastical Court, the States and Parish Assemblies with the traditional prayers in French. More importantly, as head of the Anglican Church in Jersey, his main and difficult task is to guard its traditions while, at the same time, making them relevant to the congregations of today.

Basil O'Ferrall will be the 32nd Dean of Jersey, but he has examples before him of quite "un-Deanish" behaviour — which he would be wise not to emulate. Imagine a 20th century Dean being labelled an outlaw, a traitor or a rebel leader!

In the 14th century Dean Pierre Falayse was outlawed because he dared to usurp the power of the Crown, and his successor, Geoffroi de Carteret, was forever being involved in lawsuits. Later, there was

Dean Bandinel was Jersey's version of the Vicar of Bray. As Rector of St Brelade in 1601, he was a Calvanist, but twelve years later, as Dean, he had to re-establish Anglicanism in the Island. In the Civil War he became leader of the Parliamentarians, though still continuing to pray for the King. When there was a swing in favour of the Royalists, however, his old enemy, the Royalist de Carteret, had him thrown into prison.

Fearful of the fate that awaited him and his son in Gorey Castle, he decided to try to escape to England. So one stormy night saw Dean Bandinel and his son dangling from a rope attached to a small window at the top of the Castle. As the rope was too short the Dean's son fell on to the rocks below, injuring himself severely. As the rope was not strong enough, when the Dean started to climb down it broke and he too was hurled on to the rocks, sustaining frightful and fatal injuries.

At the end of the 18th century Dean Dupre's girth was attributed to the number of turkeys he had eaten — bought by selling the Communion Wine! For getting the Privy Council to reverse the Royal Court's decision concerning an unsavoury character (the Rev. Edward Le Vavasseur dit Durell) Dean Hue was so venomously attacked by the newspapers of the time, that he openly declared his regret at ever having decided to come to Jersey in the first place!

Many, however, will be the good wishes of the Island that, after the Venerable Basil O'Ferrall has been installed and inducted by Winchester's new Bishop, the Island's new Dean will thoroughly enjoy and relish his term of office in Jersey and not regret that he came here.

(Compiled from research by Leslie Sinel).

Senator Lyndon Farnham's Q&A

 

Senator Lyndon Farnham secured the Assembly’s backing to become Jersey’s next Chief Minister after an hour of questioning that tested his plans on housing, health, spending, the environment and political judgement. 

He outlined several “clear priorities” for the next four years: maintaining sustainable public finances, boosting economic growth, improving affordability and housing, strengthening health and public services, and raising government performance. He pledged to build consensus while staying focused on delivering outcomes islanders expect.

States Members pressed him heavily on public spending. Farnham assured Deputy Tom Coles that fiscal discipline would mean cutting waste and inefficiency rather than reducing support for vulnerable islanders, emphasising that help must be “properly targeted.”

On Fort Regent, he said the first draft redevelopment vision had been shared with young people and that, if plans stay on track, the site should reopen by 2030. He called the Fort’s long-term decay “unacceptable”.

The cost-of-living crisis dominated discussion. Farnham acknowledged Jersey’s limited control over inflation due to reliance on imports but said government could still act by improving efficiency, reducing fees and regulation, and promoting competition. He stressed this would be a high priority.

Health spending drew scrutiny from Deputy Louise Doublet. Farnham argued that significant post‑Covid cost pressures required eliminating duplication and inefficiency across the public sector and arms‑length bodies.

On housing, he noted that many approved developments remain stalled due to inadequate infrastructure, particularly water and drainage. Current roadworks form part of efforts to fix this. He said the next Island Plan will be one of Jersey’s most important documents.

Farnham also signalled that some environmental targets—such as banning fossil‑fuel car imports by 2030—may need to be slowed to remain realistic.

A tense moment came when Deputy Montfort Tadier questioned External Relations Minister Ian Gorst’s decision to provide a character reference for disgraced Guernsey politician Jonathan Le Tocq. Farnham said “judgement is a prerequisite” for all ministers.

He must now present his proposed ministerial team by 26 June.

More Short Stories: Dean Annesley and the Hope of Freedom

The story heavily features the evening hymn “All praise to Thee, my God, this night” (also known as “Glory to Thee, my God, this night”), ending with Thomas Ken's famous Doxology. Strictly speaking, although Ken’s hymn was written in 1674, before William’s landing in 1688, the hymn would not have been widely known. However, I hope the reader can forgive this small anachronism.

Dean Annesley and the Hope of Freedom
A story of Exeter Cathedral

Dean Annesley stood beneath the great Norman arches of Exeter Cathedral, the last notes of “All praise to Thee, my God, this night “drifting upward into the soaring vaulting. The choirboys’ voices faded like candle‑smoke, leaving the vast space trembling with the memory of harmony. Outside, November winds pressed against the ancient stones, harbingers of the news from the coast, that William of Orange had arrived with his army in Devon, come to deliver England from the tyranny of King James II. It was a kingdom poised on the edge of change.

He remained in his stall long after the congregation had gone, his hands resting on the worn oak, his breath clouding faintly in the cold. The candles along the choir flickered, casting long shadows across the tombs of bishops and canons. Tomorrow, if the whispers were true, William of Orange would ride into Exeter, and bring deliverance.

Annesley closed his eyes. Only months earlier he had stood in this very place, refusing to read King James II’s Declaration of Indulgence, a command that violated both law and conscience. He had felt the weight of the Crown pressing upon him, the threat of dismissal, imprisonment, disgrace. Yet he had resisted. Not for rebellion’s sake, but for the Anglican settlement, he had sworn to uphold: Scripture, reason, and the ordered tradition that Richard Hooker had defended so nobly. Annesley had declared he would rather be hanged at the doors of his cathedral than that the declaration should be read there.

Hooker was born in Heavitree, not far from Exeter. In his “Ecclesiastical Polity”, he had argued that church governance and the laws of the realm must be bound by redeemed human reason and the rule of law, rather than the arbitrary, absolute whims of a monarch. The laws protecting the national church were sacred and could not be single-handedly overwritten by royal decree. And yet King James II had bypassed Parliament to alter religious laws, and violated this. Although nearly a hundred years separated Annesley and Hooker, he stood firmly on the foundations laid down by Hooker during the Elizabethan settlement.

How often had he drawn strength from Hooker’s calm, measured prose, written in an age no less turbulent than his own. Hooker had argued that the Church of England was neither Rome nor Geneva, but a middle way shaped by charity, learning, and the quiet confidence that truth need not shout to be heard.

Teach me to live, that I may dread
The grave as little as my bed…

The hymn’s words lingered in his mind. Tonight they felt less like poetry and more like a prayer for a nation. A verger passed silently through the choir, gathering books. “A strange evening, Dean,” he murmured. “The city is restless. Inns full, many whispering in corners. They say the Prince is near.” Annesley nodded. “England has waited long for deliverance. But deliverance must come with order, not chaos.”

He rose and walked slowly down the nave. The great west window glowed faintly with the last light of day, caught in a perpetual sunrise, a patchwork of fragments of saints and prophets and clear glass, all that remained after the Puritan soldiers had destroyed it. Beneath them, the stones bore the marks of centuries: the scars of the Civil War, the soot of old candles, the footsteps of pilgrims who had prayed for kings, for peace, for mercy. He wondered what tomorrow’s pilgrims would pray for. He knew many of the Cathedral’s cathedral's canons and prebendaries were terrified. Should they stay, and face treason if William failed?

At the crossing Annesley paused, listening to the cathedral breathe. To the side of him, the massive, decorative tin organ pipes loomed above him like a forest of silver. He imagined the sound that would fill the space when the news finally broke , when William’s banner was raised in the city, when the people poured into the Close, when hope, long suppressed, found its voice again.

Yet hope alone was not enough. England needed steadiness. England needed the very thing Hooker had given her: a Church rooted deeply enough to withstand the storms of kings.

O may my soul on Thee repose… 

He whispered the line into the stillness.

Outside, a bell tolled the hour. The wind shifted, carrying with it the distant sound of horses on the London road. And on that road was Bishop Lamplugh, who had delivered a fiery public address urging the people of his diocese to stay fiercely loyal to the Catholic King James II before fleeing three days before to support King James II in London.

Annesley drew his cloak around him and stepped into the nave’s shadowed length. Tomorrow, he thought, the Prince would come. And when he did, Exeter Cathedral, this house of prayer, this witness to England’s conscience, would stand ready, just as it always had. And he recalled as a prayer those words of Bishop Thomas Ken, ending that great evening hymn:

Praise God, from whom all blessings flow;
Praise Him, all creatures here below;
Praise Him above, ye heavenly host;
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

The Railway

One from the archive. This was written in Exeter, Winter 1977, a cold winter although the snow only came the following March. I was at the time in student halls of residence - Murray House, Duryard Halls (now demolished) and my window faced out to trees, and beyond that, the railway lines, so when it wa open I could hear the trains going by. Not steam trains, of course, that is poetic licence in the picture,

The Railway

Shunting, groaning, squeaking
The train rumbles on
Into the station

The doors open, the crowds rush out
While other crowds rush in
At the station

The whistle blows, the train is off
Steaming, moaning, rattling
Out of the station



At last the moon breaks through the clouds

The Railway is empty now

By the station

The Islander: The Island Games 1985

The 1985 Inter-Island Games were the first Island Games and were held in Isle of Man from 18 to 24 July 1985, as part of the Isle of Man International Year of Sport.

Jersey was one of fifteen Islands represented at the inaugural Island Games held in the Isle of Man during July. The week long events provided a string of sports which were very well supported: cycling, football, swimming, volleyball, badminton, athletics and a number of different shooting events were all represented.

The Games opened with a parade along the Promenade of Douglas to Villa Marina Gardens, where all the teams assembled. The opening ceremony was undertaken by H.E. Sir Nigel Cecil K.B.E., C.B., Lt.-Governor of the Isle of Man. He spoke of "dreams realised" and the start of a great new event which would occur bi-annually. He added that he had personally' visited all the competing Islands, which were the Aland Islands (Finland), Anglesey (Wales), Faroe Islands (Denmark), Froya (Norway), Gotland (Sweden), Guernsey, Hitra (Norway), Iceland, Isle of Man, Isle of Wight, Malta, Orkneys, Shetlands, St Helena and, of course, Jersey.

Jersey was involved in four sports: Football, Swimming, Badminton and Shooting and, though being one of the smallest teams, was eventually to gain 4th place in the medals table with 8 golds, 12 silvers and 2 bronze medals.

The swimming team were very successful and, on the Monday at the Douglas Aquadrome, were to win 14 more medals than any other Island team. David Filipponi won 4 golds, Alison Christie a gold in the breast-stroke, whilst silver and bronze went to Sanchia Crapper, Jeanine Taylor, Heidi Corbet and Alison Christie. These girls made up the relay team and, though much younger than their rivals, won two further silver medals. The Douglas Aquadrome was packed for the finals and, with the pool decorated by the surrounding flags of the 15 nations, it all created a marvellous atmosphere.

 

The shooting teams represented in a variety of events were also to figure in the medals. John Renouf and Derek Bernard won gold and silver in the team air pistol events, whilst at Automatic Ball trap, shooters Michael Sangan and Mo Gotel took the team silver.

The Badminton team were able to win 2 golds: Steve Watson partnered by Jean Lawson in the mixed doubles, and at men's doubles Ian Coombes Goodfellow partnered Steve Watson. Three silvers were added during the week by Andy Gallichan and Sally Adams, Ian Lawson and Andy Gallichan, and in the Badminton "team" event.

The footballers were to finish 7th in what turned out to be an extremely close under 16 competition. Jersey were 4 points adrift of winners Hitra (Norway), though they did have the satisfaction of beating Guernsey 3 0, with goals from Marcus Queree and Chris Hamon (2). This also resulted in Guernsey missing out on the bronze medal.

The Games came to a close on the Wednesday evening in spectacular fashion. Preceeding the closing ceremony, the half marathon finished inside the Palace Lido, a complex world famous for its massive ballroom and adjacent Casino. The Games finally ended with the extravagant laser lighting equipment writing out and telling all Islands that the Games would recommence in Guernsey in 1987.

Channel Television spent the week recording the progress of the two Channel Island teams and will produce a film version of the Games for the national network series "About Britain", later next year.

More Short Stories: The Changing Scenes

This short story is based on the hymn "Through All the Changing Scenes of Life", and is set in the 1960s, shortly after the publication of John A.T. Robinson's "Honest to God".

The Changing Scenes

Margaret Ellison had placed her husband’s prayer book back on the shelf, but her hand lingered on the spine as though it might still be warm. The house felt cavernous without Harold, every clock ticked too loudly, every floorboard creaked like a reminder. She sat at the dining table with the hymnbook open, the familiar words staring up at her: “Through all the changing scenes of life, in trouble and in joy…” She whispered them, though her voice faltered on joy.

The world outside was changing too. The newspapers were full of arguments about Bishop Robinson’s Honest to God. Margaret had read it in the evenings after Harold’s death, the pages trembling slightly in her hands. The first chapter, “Reluctant Revolution”, felt like a description of her own heart. She had not asked for a revolution in her faith, yet grief had thrust her into one.

She made tea, though she barely tasted it. The kettle’s whistle echoed through the empty kitchen. She sat again, pen poised above her journal.

“O magnify the Lord with me…” But how could she magnify anything when her world had shrunk to a single point of loss?

She turned to the next chapter of Robinson’s book, “The End of Theism?”, and felt a shiver. Harold would have hated the title. He had believed with the steady, uncomplicated trust of a man who never doubted the sun would rise. Margaret envied him now. She wondered whether her own faith had been merely borrowed from him, like a coat she had worn without noticing its weight. Images of God from childhood passed through her mind, the old man with a white beard in the sky, angels singing with harps in the clouds, and they seemed so insubstantial in a world in which mankind was heading in rockets to the moon.

The hymn’s next verse drifted through her mind: “The hosts of God encamp around the dwellings of the just.” She tried to picture angels standing guard around her little house, but all she saw was the empty chair by the hearth.

She opened the book again. “Chapter 3: The Ground of Our Being”. The phrase unsettled her. It felt abstract, slippery. But something in it tugged at her, an idea that God might not be “up there” but somehow beneath everything, even beneath her grief. Perhaps beneath Harold’s death too. But where should she find what Robinson called “The Ground of Being”? Nothing seemed solid now, not even the earth beneath her feet.

The next Sunday she went to church for the first time since the funeral. The vicar preached on “Chapter 4: The Man for Others”, speaking of Christ not as a distant figure but as one who walked into the world’s pain. Margaret felt her throat tighten. If Christ truly entered human suffering, then perhaps He had been beside Harold in those final hours. And perhaps he was beside her too. “Blessed are those who mourn” came to mind, and now it seemed to have new meaning. Christ was there in the midst of the mourners, the Jesus who wept at the death of his friend Lazarus. After the service, she lingered in the pew. The hymn returned to her: “O make but trial of His love…” She had always sung it confidently. Now it felt like a challenge.

At home she read “Chapter 5: Worldly Holiness”. The idea that holiness might be found in ordinary life, washing dishes, writing letters, tending a garden, felt strangely comforting. Perhaps she did not need to feel holy to be held by God. Perhaps Martha had the better part after all, and did not Mary Magdalene meet the risen Lord, tending a garden.

Then “Chapter 6: The New Morality”, the one everyone was arguing about. She found it less shocking than expected. It spoke of love as the guiding principle. Harold had lived that way without ever reading a bishop’s book. If there was not love at the heart of the universe, what was there to hope for? The substitutes for love, power, ambition, possessions so often got in the way, and judgement needed mercy, that balance of love.

Finally she reached “Chapter 7: Recasting the Mould”. She closed the book and looked around the quiet room. Perhaps that was what she was doing, recasting the mould of her faith, reshaping it around absence, around longing, around the stubborn hope that God had not abandoned her.

She opened the hymnbook once more. “Fear Him, ye saints, and ye will then have nothing else to fear.” She remembered the words in “A Grief Observed”, that grief can also be like fear, fear of facing life alone without loved ones. She recalled the disciples, mourning the death of their Lord, hidden away inside that upper room, fearful, and even fearful when he appeared before them once more. And yet beyond that fear came peace, renewal, and hope. 

For the first time since Harold’s death, she faintest stirring of peace, and recast, renewed, the old certainties had to die, as a seed in the ground, to bring forth new life, and the acceptance that the one still point in the turning world, amidst all the changing scenes of life, was God.

To Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,
The God Whom we adore,
Be glory, as it was, is now,
And shall be evermore. Amen.

Election Aftermath

I was pondering the election, and thinking of these words from Dr Who: "Things end. That's all. Everything ends, and it's always sad. But everything begins again too, and that's always happy.". That seems somehow to sum things up.

Election Aftermath

It always feels flat, somehow, a long night,
Counting away the hours until daylight;
Sleepless, watching the figures just appear:
There must be trepidation, worry, fear;
And so it grinds on, the results do come:
Everyone added on to Senatorial sum;
Trends emerge, as we get nearer dawn,
And at least some will come to mourn
The demise of a career, the loss of seat,
As they stare down at a bleak defeat;
For others, elation, jumping for joy,
And the youngest, almost still a boy;
And for all we rejoice or not, recall
That those who lost are people all
Cast out into the wilderness for now,
And have to move on to see how
They can make a new life, new hope,
And after disappointment, just cope;
It is always sad when something ends,
But a new beginning somehow mends;
And now the banners are taken down,
And to the victor comes the crown.