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.

1986 - 40 years ago - June - Part 2

1986 - 40 years ago - June - Part 2

June 16-22

THE Public Works Committee announce that they are to give pedestrians priority in many more places and that they have located a number of sites where pedestrian crossings and speed limits could be established.

TV celebrity Anneka Rice visits the Island with a Channel 4 camera crew to film an edition of "Treasure Hunt".

Senator John Le Marquand, a dominant figure in Jersey politics since the Second World War, is made an Officer of the Order of the British Empire in the Queen's Birthday Honours list.

A motorcyclist,c20-year-old Trevor Beaugie, dies at the General Hospital after a late-night crash into a granite water outfall on the beach at Beaumont.

A poll conducted by the Jersey Evening Post reveals that many Islanders favour a helicopter rather than a minesweeper as a contribution to UK defence spending. Of those who take part in the poll, 4,113 favour a helicopter and only 83 favour a minesweeper.

A former Deputy Bailiff, Mr Francis de Lisle Bois, OBE, dies aged 77.

A labourer who was buried under granite blocks and debris when a 22-ft. wall fell on him in January sues his employees, John J. du Feu Ltd.

Customers of Ile Verte Travel are assured that they will not lose money after the business is declared en desastre.

A total of £7,000 is needed to repair and re-glaze stained glass windows at St Ouen's Church.

June 23-29

TWO men die near the States Farm in Trinity when the bicycle they are riding is struck by a car. The two dead men are named as Mr Shaun Smith (29), and Mr Brian Corps (38), both of whom were from the Newcastle area.

It is suggested that Jersey could make a defence contribution to the UK by supplying British forces with agricultural produce. Chairman of the Jersey Agricultural Marketing Federation Mr Roy Mourant says that part or even all the controversial contribution could be made in this way.

Two more safety officers are appointed at the Resources Recovery Board. The appointments are made against the background of a number of serious accidents involving RRB staff, including one which left an electrician unconscious after he received an electric shock at the board's Bellozanne plant.

An inquest into the death of Trevor Beaugie, the motorcyclist who died after his machine crashed into water outlet on the beach at Bel Royal, reveals that the dead man was in a race with a friend.

A young Glaswegian woman reserves her plea in the Police Court when she is charged with the manslaughter of her boyfriend, a heroin addict. Mary Jane Gourley (19), is alleged to have unlawfully killed Gordon Paul Stewart at some time on 4 or 5 June at Grove House, Grove Street.

Members of the Poingdestre Descendants Association from Virginia in the USA visit the Island and meet 35 members of local Poingdestre families at the Ommaroo Hotel.

The Fire Service rescue craft is unable to put to sea at Bonne Nuit because cars block the slipway. Happily, 16-year-old John Bisson is rescued from his overturned dinghy by a passing speedboat.

Housing in Jersey - the Real Challenges

Value Jersey's Aim

The following are taken from their "Purple Book"  

Removing planning barriers, fast-tracking affordable retail, and reducing the cost of apartment development are not just affordability measures, they are competitiveness measures. An Island where workers cannot find or afford decent housing cannot compete for talent against Singapore, Dubai, or Luxembourg. That is true for financial professionals, but it is equally true for the teachers, nurses, and care workers that many Islanders depend on every day.

Value Jersey's proposal is a cradle to grave housing strategy: a comprehensive review of what is being built, where, and for whom, to ensure Jersey has the right number of the right sized homes for its population at every stage of life. From first flats to family homes to properties suitable for older residents looking to downsize, a market that works for everyone at every stage eases pressure across the board for buyers and renters alike, and makes Jersey a place where people can genuinely build a life.

What it does not address

Their platform tries to reframe deep structural problems as purely bureaucratic hurdles that can be solved with the right political will. However, this approach leaves a massive gap between free-market optimism and practical island physics.

The brutal reality of Jersey’s escalating housing crisis can be traced down to three unyielding truths: (1) a punishing island supply chain, (2) a chronic shortage of developable space, and (3) a fierce, ideological battle over the island's green landscape. 

Far from being isolated administrative hurdles, these factors collide daily to make building homes in Jersey slow, prohibitively expensive, and politically explosive.

Building a home here comes with effectively what is a punishing geographical cost. Jersey lacks the heavy domestic manufacturing required for modern construction, meaning virtually every brick, steel beam, and bag of cement must make a costly trek across the English Channel. This reliance on maritime freight, combined with port handling fees, freight cost rates, and specialized local logistics, inflates the baseline cost of raw materials. While corporate developers can occasionally negotiate bulk discounts, the sheer lack of market scale on a small island means that construction costs per square meter remain significantly higher than on the UK mainland, driving up final shelf prices for buyers. The recent war has pushed costs up even further.

Even if you can afford the materials, finding a place to build is a logistical nightmare. In an island with a finite footprint, the days of easy, open-plot building are long gone. Unlike post-industrial Britain, Jersey does not possess sprawling inventories of abandoned factories ripe for conversion. Instead, developers are forced to look at complex brownfield sites, often crumbling agricultural buildings or redundant commercial glasshouses.

Unlocking these sites requires rezoning, a notoriously slow legal process tethered to the island's rigid political cycles. This administrative bottleneck throttles the land supply, creating a high-stakes, artificial scarcity that sends land values skyrocketing.

Compounding this gridlock is Jersey’s fierce commitment to environmental protectionism. Massive swathes of the island’s landmass are ring-fenced under strict Green Zone designations designed to halt urban sprawl and preserve the island's iconic coastlines and agricultural heritage. While this policy successfully safeguards Jersey's natural beauty, it places vast amounts of land completely off-limits to housing. 

This environmental idealism directly collides with human necessity; by refusing to build outward, the government forces all new housing into dense urban infills or sparks toxic, neighbourhood-level battles over every single edge-of-parish field.

So can Value Jersey's vision succeed?

Their call for removing planning barriers and fast-tracking developments directly addresses the problem of land scarcity and slow rezoning, but it does so by attempting to smash through it. Value Jersey is betting that the slow, painful administrative bottlenecks can be bypassed by simply changing the law to fast-track approvals. Drastically cutting down the time it takes to get permission would be an offset to the high costs of island freight. 

However, this supply-side solution completely ignores the physical reality of the Green Zone policy. You cannot fast-track your way onto land that is legally protected from development. By focusing entirely on removing planning barriers for high-density apartments, Value Jersey is subtly admitting that they cannot expand outward into the countryside.

So, although they don't say it, their plan implies a massive push toward high-density urban infills, likely packing apartment blocks into St. Helier. This avoids the political landmine of touching the Green Zone, but it completely ignores the massive infrastructure upgrades that such a dense population concentration would require.

Cramming thousands of residents into high-density urban apartment blocks would probably overwhelm the town's aging physical and social systems. Let's explore this further.

Beneath the streets, subterranean networks face systemic failure as hundreds of new appliances simultaneously drain into Victorian-era sewage systems and strain electrical grids. On the surface, localized traffic bottlenecks paralyze narrow roads, while the sheer volume of concentrated waste disrupts parish refuse logistics.

Now infrastructure can always be engineered out of a crisis, but the real question is who holds the purse strings? This final financial hurdle is where Value Jersey’s free-market rhetoric hits a wall of cold, hard public finance, as the roads are dug up to install high-capacity cables and wider sewage pipes, all of which has to be paid for from the public purse.