More Short Stories: At First Light

This is based on a well known hymn, but also what Chesterton said of God in his wonderful book "Orthodoxy", about God never tiring of the act of creation. There is also a touch of autobiography there.

At First Light

I woke before the alarm, though I couldn’t have said why. Something in the air felt different, lighter, expectant, as though the world were holding itself open for me alone. I lay still for a moment, listening. No cars yet, no footsteps on the lane. Only the soft, deliberate call of a blackbird somewhere beyond the garden wall.

I rose quietly and pushed the window open. Cool morning air drifted in, carrying the faint sweetness of wet earth. Rain had passed through in the night, washing everything clean. The garden below glistened as though it had been remade while I slept.

I stepped outside barefoot. The grass was cold, but not unkind. Dew clung to my skin, waking me more gently than any alarm ever could. I breathed deeply, letting the freshness settle inside me.

It reminded me of childhood and those early mornings when I would slip out before anyone else stirred, convinced I was the first person ever to see the sun rise. Back then, dawn felt like a secret shared only with me. I realise now that the feeling hasn’t entirely left. 

I would embrace the fresh air, the dawn breeze, and I would sometimes even cartwheel around the garden. Age and infirmity mean that is no longer possible, except in the hidden garden of memory.

I walked slowly along the garden path, touching petals as I passed. The roses bowed under the weight of dew, fragile yet determined. The air smelled of promise. Renewal. A quiet assurance that life, however bruised or tangled, always found a way to begin again.

At the far end of the garden stood the old wooden bench. I sat, letting the sunlight warm my face. The blackbird’s song rose again, so clear, confident and unhurried. It wasn’t performing. It was simply being. 

I closed my eyes.

For a moment I imagined the world at its first dawn, a myth yes, but a myth is a dream alive. It was untouched, unspoiled, shimmering with possibility. Light falling on grass that had never known a footprint. Water glistening on leaves that had never been shaken by wind. A garden waiting for its first visitor. It was like Narnia before Aslan sang the world into being.

I breathed in slowly, letting the thought settle.

Every morning is a small echo of that first one. A reminder that no matter what has been lost, no matter what sorrow has taken root, the day ahead is unclaimed. Unwritten. A gift.

When I opened my eyes again, the sun had climbed a little higher, turning the dew into scattered sparks. The blackbird hopped along the wall, head tilted, as if checking that I was paying attention.

“I am,” I whispered.

I stood, steadier now, and walked back toward the house. The day would bring its tasks, its challenges, its ordinary burdens. But it would also bring light. And song. And the quiet, persistent truth that creation is not a single moment long ago, but something renewed with every dawn.

A new day had broken. And I was ready to step into it.

Beltane Visions

I wanted to capture something of the Gaelic Beltane, but also with the theme of fire, have a glance at the way the sorry state of our poor world now.

Beltane Visions

We gather in a circle for time of fire:
This is the time for renewed desire;
In the purifying smoke, the in between,
Cattle and farmers are made clean;
Romans in the South don’t understand,
The power of Beltane to enrich the land;
We Gaels and Picts have this ancient rite,
When our Beltane fire is set alight;
Now our shaman looks into the flame,
Strange portents that are hard to name:
City gleaming turned to rubble and dust,
Falling metal strikes, and does combust;
The trees burned in heat, the wildfire,
As if the ending of our beloved shire;
These but shadows, that may not come,
For we may allay them in our beating drum:
The chanting of the year, where fairy folk,
Come and bless us, through the smoke;
Beltane Blessings keep us safe, bring light,
Over hill and dale, free from the wight,
That shadows depart for now at least,
While we enjoy the Beltane feast.

1986 - 40 years ago - May - Part 1

1986 - 40 years ago - May - Part 1

April 28—May 4

MR Barry Shelton, the director of a company declared en desastre in 1982, calls for the resignation of the Viscount, Mr Mike Wilkins. He also asks the Attorney-General to look into the Viscount's handling of the case involving the company, Jomen Ltd.

A man escapes with coins and rings worth £1,600 from a King Street jewellery shop. Staff at H. Samuel disturb the thief as he grabs the valuables from an open safe in the rear of the premises.

Traces of radioactive fallout from the Chernobyl power station accident in Russia are found in samples of milk and grass taken in the Island but they are dismissed as "minimal" by the Civil Emergency Officer, Col. Bill Clayden.

Antonio and Veronica Mileti, a couple involved in a "sham" home buying scheme to evade Housing regulations, are each fined £15,000 by the Royal Court.

The vice-president of the Public Health, Deputy Robin Rumboll, says that the committee will not support a contribution to the cost of keeping the Netley Castle convalescent home in Southampton open. He adds that this might prejudice the present reciprocal health agreement with the UK.

The Parish of St Mary says farewell to its Rector, The Rev. Michael Harrison. Mr Harrison's place is to be filled by the Rev. Peter Manton until a permanent successor

Evidence given by suspended St Helier Centenier Peter Pearce is called into question at the Police Court. The Centenier's account of the arrest of a man accused of assaulting the police is alleged to be at variance with evidence given by States Police officers.

May 5-11

INFORMATION about Jersey's "blueprint for the future", Volume 2 of the Island Plan, indicates that greater efforts are to be made to preserve the countryside.

The Frenchman detained after a shotgun siege in St Mary in April, Jean-Luc Le Moual, is released on bail after a Police Court appearance.

An Agriculture and Fisheries Working Party is set up to look into the introduction of safety regulations for fishing boats. The move is made five years after the matter was first brought to the attention of the States.

Deputy John Le Gallais, president of the Resources Recovery Board, reveals that local oil companies have so far recovered £3 million from consumers because of the special premium imposed to cover capital investment in La Collette fuel farm.

W. E. Guiton and Co. Ltd., the parent company of the Jersey Evening Post, announces pre-tax profits for 1985 of nearly £1 million.

Success is also recorded by de Gruchy's, the largest single store in the Channel Islands. Pre-tax profits for the year ending on 31 January amount to over £900,000, three times the level of the previous year.

There are angry scenes at a Liberation Day wreath laying ceremony attended by a Russian military attaché. Demonstrators almost come to blows when an anti-Soviet group tries to lay its own wreath at the Westmount memorial to Occupation slave workers.

Ancient and Post-Modern: Why Cornerstone is a Stumbling Stone

Ancient and Post-Modern.

Traditional hymns follow a strict "A-A-B-A" or "Verse-Chorus" structure that allows the brain to predict what is coming next. When a modern song stays on a single chord for two minutes or drifts into a spontaneous bridge, a person who can't hear clearly loses their place and has no "map" to get back on track. These songs crop up with frequency on "Songs of Praise" nowadays.

Structural Exclusion

Hillsong’s musical language is built around free‑flowing melodic lines, irregular phrase lengths, and elastic timing. The emotional arc is carried by swelling instrumentation rather than by a predictable rhythmic or metrical pattern. For many hearing people, this feels expressive. But for someone who is hard of hearing, it removes the very cues that make participation possible.

When you can’t rely on pitch, you rely on timing, pattern, and repetition. Traditional hymnody gives you all three: regular metre, predictable cadences, and a text that sits firmly inside a rhythmic grid. You can feel where the next line will land. You can anticipate the shape of the verse. You can join in even if you can’t hear every note.

Hillsong’s style, by contrast, often stretches or compresses lines for emotional effect. Phrases don’t always begin where you expect. The melody floats rather than marches. The musicians may hold a chord for an indeterminate length of time before moving on. For someone who is hard of hearing, this is like trying to step onto a staircase where the steps keep changing height. You can’t find your footing.

There’s also the issue of mixing and volume. Hillsong‑influenced worship tends to favour a dense, amplified soundscape with strong bass and reverb. That can overwhelm hearing aids, distort speech frequencies, and make lyrics unintelligible. Without clear consonants and predictable rhythm, the words dissolve into a wash of sound.

So the problem isn’t that Hillsong songs are “bad.” It’s that they are built on musical assumptions that unintentionally exclude people whose hearing relies on structure, clarity, and rhythmic stability. And because this style has become dominant in many churches, the exclusion becomes structural rather than incidental.

The Musical Lifeline

For people who are hard of hearing, the structure of a song isn’t just a musical preference. It’s a lifeline. When the melody is vague or repetitive, it becomes incredibly difficult to track where the song is going, when sections change, or even what’s being sung.

Many people with hearing loss say things like:

“I can’t tell when the verse ends and the chorus begins.”
“It all sounds the same.”
“I can’t latch onto the tune.”
“I feel lost during the song.”

And honestly, they’re right. The musical style itself creates barriers.

Cornerstone

Some parts of Cornerstone are genuinely easier for hard‑of‑hearing listeners to follow, while others become much more difficult. The verses are based on the old hymn "My Hope Is Built on Nothing Less", and that hymn structure gives them a clear melodic shape. The melody rises and falls in predictable ways, the phrasing is regular, and the rhythm is steady. Even if someone can’t hear every detail, the shape of the tune provides a kind of roadmap that helps them stay oriented.

The chorus is also fairly easy to follow because it has a strong melodic lift. It jumps upward, has a memorable hook, and stands out clearly from the verses. That contrast makes it easier for someone with hearing loss to recognize when the song moves into a new section. The chorus feels distinct, structured, and musically grounded.

The difficulty comes in the more modern sections of the song, especially the bridge. This part relies on repetition, a narrow melodic range, and a chant‑like delivery. For someone who is hard of hearing, that can feel like one long, continuous line without clear beginnings or endings. Instead of feeling like a structured musical moment, the bridge can turn into a wall of sound that’s hard to separate into meaningful parts.

So Cornerstone ends up being a blend of two very different musical worlds. The hymn‑based verses and the melodic chorus are accessible and easy to follow, while the atmospheric, repetitive sections are much more challenging for hard‑of‑hearing listeners. This contrast is exactly why the song feels uneven in terms of clarity and structure.

Worship and Inclusion

Worship has always been at its best when it reflects the full diversity of the people gathered. Hard‑of‑hearing singers are not an exception to accommodate; they are part of the body, and their participation enriches the whole. When a church chooses music with clear structure, strong melodies, and predictable phrasing, it isn’t “watering things down.” It’s making worship accessible to people whose hearing makes it difficult to follow songs that rely on atmosphere or repetition instead of melody.

Modern worship styles sometimes unintentionally create barriers. Songs with chant‑like sections, heavy production, or blurred vocal lines can make it nearly impossible for hard‑of‑hearing singers to stay oriented. When someone can’t tell where the verse ends, where the chorus begins, or what pitch the melody is supposed to be on, they’re effectively excluded from participating. That’s the opposite of what worship is meant to do.

At its heart, worship is communal. If the music only works for people with excellent hearing, then something essential is missing. Making worship accessible to hard‑of‑hearing singers isn’t a burden — it’s a way of honouring the people who are already there, wanting to participate, and simply needing the music to meet them halfway.

Participation is the essence of worship. 

Sir Philip Bailhache: A Profile

Sir Philip Bailhache: A  Profile

Sir Philip Martin Bailhache has been a central pillar of Jersey’s legal and political architecture for over four decades. Born in 1946, he followed a prestigious educational path from Charterhouse to Christ Church, Oxford, before being called to the English Bar (Middle Temple) in 1972 and the Jersey Bar in 1975 [1]. His early career at the firm Bailhache & Bailhache quickly established him as a premier legal mind, leading to his appointment as HM Solicitor General in 1986 and HM Attorney General in 1989 [2].

The Judicial Peak and Constitutional Advocacy
In 1994, Bailhache was appointed Deputy Bailiff, ascending to the office of Bailiff of Jersey in 1995 [3]. As Bailiff, he served as the island's chief justice and the president of the States Assembly. He was knighted in the 1996 Birthday Honours for his services to the Crown [4].

His tenure was defined by a fierce defence of Jersey’s "ancient constitutional rights." He was a primary architect of the movement to enhance Jersey’s international identity, often arguing that while Jersey is a dependency of the Crown, it is not a part of the United Kingdom and should exercise greater autonomy in foreign affairs [5]. This culminated in his work on the Clothier Report and subsequent debates regarding the island’s self-governance [6].

The "Reputational" Controversy
The most polarizing moment of his career occurred during his 2008 speech during Liberation Day. While the "Operation Rectangle" investigation into historical child abuse at Haut de la Garenne was ongoing, Bailhache claimed that "all who love Jersey" should be concerned by the "unjustified" damage to the island's reputation caused by international media coverage [7]. The Remarks were heavily criticized by victims' advocates and in the later Independent Jersey Care Inquiry (2017), which suggested such comments from high-ranking officials contributed to a "culture of cover-up" or a perceived lack of transparency [8]. 

The Dual Role Debate
Bailhache was also a vocal defender of the Bailiff’s dual role—acting as both a judge and a political speaker. Despite recommendations from the Carswell Report (2010) that the roles should be separated to ensure a "separation of powers" compatible with the European Convention on Human Rights, Bailhache argued that the unique Jersey tradition provided stability and should be preserved [9].

Transition to Elected Politics

After retiring as Bailiff in 2009, he broke tradition by entering the political arena. In the 2011 Senatorial election, he topped the poll with 17,596 votes [10]. As Jersey’s first Minister for External Relations (2013–2018), he was instrumental in navigating the island through the initial shocks of the Brexit referendum, ensuring Jersey’s interests were represented in Westminster and Brussels [11].

He briefly retired in 2018 but returned to lead the newly formed Jersey Liberal Conservatives in the 2022 general election. Although he was elected as a Deputy for St. Clement, his party’s overall influence remained limited, and he declared he would now step down from the States in 2026, citing a desire to pass the torch to a younger generation [12].

Legacy

Sir Philip’s legacy is complex. To his supporters, he is the "Father of the House" of Jersey’s autonomy—a man of immense intellect who protected the island from external overreach. To his critics, he represents a "traditional establishment" that was slow to adapt to modern standards of transparency and judicial separation. Regardless of perspective, his influence on Jersey’s status as a modern micro-state is unmatched.

---

Sources:

1. Who's Who 2024, "Bailhache, Sir Philip Martin."
2. States Assembly Records, "Historical List of Law Officers."
3. Jersey Evening Post, "The Bailiff: A History of the Office," (1995 archives).
4. The London Gazette, Supplement 54427, June 1996.
5. P. Bailhache, Jersey's Constitution: The Way Forward, (Jersey Law Review, 1998).
6. Report of the Review Panel on the Machinery of Government (Clothier Report, 2000).
7. BBC News, "Bailiff defends 'reputation' speech," (Oct 2008).
8. Report of the Independent Jersey Care Inquiry, (July 2017).
9. The Carswell Report, "Inquiry into the Roles of the Law Officers and the Bailiff," (2010).
10. Vote.je, "2011 Senatorial Election Results."
11. States of Jersey, "External Relations: Annual Reports 2013-2017."
12. Bailiwick Express, "Sir Philip Bailhache resigns from States Assembly," (2023).

How Jersey’s current Trans Inclusion Schools Guidance differs from the Cass‑aligned guidance now used in England.

Jersey’s current guidance requires teachers not to inform parents if a child begins using a different name or pronouns at school, unless the child consents. This is explicit in the guidance and has been publicly criticised for instructing teachers to use one set of pronouns with the child and a different set with parents.

In contrast, the Cass Review–aligned guidance in England takes the opposite approach: parents must be involved early, except in rare cases where there is a clear safeguarding risk from the parents themselves. The Cass framework emphasises that schools cannot socially transition a child without parental knowledge because doing so undermines safeguarding, transparency, and trust.

Jersey’s guidance treats a child’s change of name or pronouns as not a safeguarding concern in itself, and therefore not something parents need to be told about. This is stated directly in the guidance and has been widely reported.

Cass guidance, however, states that a request for social transition is a significant psychosocial event requiring a structured safeguarding response, multi‑disciplinary oversight, and parental involvement. It is not treated as a neutral or trivial matter.

Jersey’s guidance instructs teachers to use the child’s chosen pronouns in school, even if this means concealing that practice from parents by reverting to biological pronouns in parent communications. This creates a dual‑system of language that teachers must switch between.

Cass‑aligned guidance rejects this entirely. It states that schools should not create “dual realities” where a child is treated as one gender at school and another at home. It argues that such secrecy is harmful, destabilising, and places staff in impossible positions.

In conclusion...

Jersey's current school guidance diverges from the Cass Review by adopting a gender-affirmative model that treats social transition as a neutral event rather than a significant psychosocial development, neglecting the recommendation for early parental involvement. The policy promotes secrecy by allowing "dual realities," where preferred pronouns are used at school despite parental opposition, directly contradicting the Cass Review's finding that such practices are harmful to the child. Furthermore, while the Cass Review advises a cautious, holistic "watchful waiting" approach, the Jersey framework continues to prioritize immediate affirmation over comprehensive mental health assessment.

While the Education Minister, Rob Ward, claims he endorses the principles of watchful waiting in theory, opponents state the actual written guidance does not contain clear recommendations for teachers to practice it.

The Cass Review argues that social transition is not a neutral act but an "active intervention" with significant psychological consequences. While the Minister views "watchful waiting" as a rigid political doctrine, the Cass framework presents it as a developmentally appropriate clinical approach that avoids prematurely locking a child into a medical pathway.

During the 25 March 2026 States Assembly debate, Education Minister Deputy Rob Ward described the proposed guidance as an "externally-authored campaigning document" and a "political doctrine". Ward argued that this, and other similar, proposals to replace existing guidelines, prioritized a specific ideological approach over professional, child-centred safeguarding methods.

Dr. Cass has consistently maintained that her review is an evidence-based clinical evaluation and has criticized the "toxic" nature of the debate that rebrands standard psychological support as a form of harm or "conversion therapy". It seems it is the Minister who is advocating a political doctrine.

While the Minister prioritizes the child's expressed identity under the UNCRC, Cass cautions that children often experience gender distress alongside other complex issues like autism, neurodiversity, or trauma. Simply affirming a child’s self-identification without a broader holistic assessment is a failure of clinical and safeguarding duties.

More Short Stories: The Goodness of God

 

This is based on a true story, and took place in a district church over five years ago, which I was told by a very reliable witness, and I have no reason to doubt him. It has been lightly dramatized, but the key statement by the Vicar in question was given almost exactly as here. The names of the church, the vicar, and the mourners have been changed, and in fact the mourners did not walk out of the church, but just sat there in stunned silence until the end of the service. 

The name I have given to the church is designed to call to mind the accounts in St Matthew's gospel of a place of darkness, where people are cast out, and where there is (as the King James version has it), a wailing and gnashing of teeth. The church in question is very low Anglican, very charismatic evangelical, and sits very lightly to liturgy. I was so shocked at hearing the tale, and I wanted to craft a story which both told of it, and also expressed my own deep seated antipathy to this harsh and judgmental Christianity. The title, needless to say, is ironic.

The Goodness of God

St Matthew‑of‑the‑Wailing Teeth stood sombre against the grey Bristol sky, its Victorian stonework streaked with decades of rain. The locals had long joked about the nickname, reputedly taken from those narrow lancet windows along the nave like a row of clenched teeth. Inside, the church felt gentler: polished pews, brass memorials, and the great east window of Christ weeping, His glass‑blue tears catching the morning light.

 Arthur Penrose’s funeral filled the place. He had been a grandfather of the old Bristol kind—steady, generous, fond of allotments and long walks with his dog. He had not been a regular churchgoer, but his daughter wanted a proper Anglican service, and St Matthew’s was the family parish.

The band and singers began “The Goodness of God”. Many mourners didn’t know the hymn, but they stood politely, some mouthing the refrain, others simply listening. The words, “all my life you have been faithful”, seemed to settle softly over the congregation, a comfort rather than a declaration.

The Reverend Joel Scarriot stepped into the pulpit, with no vestments but just a grey suit - only his dog collar indicating his status as a clergyman. He was new to the parish, an enthusiastic charismatic with a reputation for sermons that ran hotter than most Anglicans preferred.

He began well. He spoke warmly of Arthur’s kindness, his humour, his devotion to his family. People nodded. A few smiled through tears. For a moment, grief felt held.

Then his tone shifted.

Friends,” he said, “we must speak honestly before God. Arthur was a good man, yes, but goodness alone does not save. Without accepting Christ, there is no entry into eternal life.”

A ripple of unease passed through the pews.

Reverend Scarriot continued, voice tightening. “It grieves me to say it, but Arthur did not know the Lord. He has gone to Hell.”

There was gasps from the mourners. A stifled cry. Arthur’s eldest son stiffened, colour rising in his cheeks. The widow clutched her handkerchief so tightly it tore.

But the Vicar pressed on. “You, those of you still living, have a choice. You can avoid his fate. You can turn to Jesus today. Do not leave this church without securing your salvation.”

The congregation began to move. First a few, then many. Coats rustled. Feet scraped. Someone whispered, “This is cruel.” Another said, “Not today. Not like this.”

Arthur’s daughter rose, guiding her mother toward the aisle. Her voice trembled. “Dad deserved better.”

Within minutes, half the church had emptied. The band fell silent. The guitarists stopped playing. The electronic keyboard player lowered his hands. Reverend Scarriot faltered mid‑sentence, staring at the departing mourners as though they were the ones committing a transgression.

Outside, in the churchyard, people gathered beneath the budding trees. The spring air felt cold. Some cried openly. Others shook their heads in disbelief. A few simply stood in stunned quiet.

Inside, the great east window glimmered. Christ’s glass‑blue tears fell upon the empty pews where comfort should have been offered, where love had gathered seeking gentleness and found instead a wound.

And in that hollowed‑out church, it seemed, for a moment, that the weeping Christ was grieving not only Arthur, but the words spoken in His name.