What Might G.K. Chesterton say about scrapping the minimum wage?

Jersey’s minimum wage has sparked fresh debate after Economic Development Minister Gerald Voisin publicly questioned whether it should remain in place. In a letter to the editor, he argued that the current £13.59 hourly rate is holding back businesses, fuelling inflation, and limiting opportunities for people to take on additional work. His comments follow similar calls from columnist Douglas Kruger of Value Jersey, who labelled the wage floor a political showpiece. Voisin previously endorsed Value Jersey during June’s election.

What Might G.K. Chesterton say about scrapping the minimum wage?

It is a curious thing, how modern reformers will stride into the marketplace like prophets, waving their arms and declaring that the ancient and ordinary protections of the poor are suddenly the engines of national ruin. One might imagine, listening to such pronouncements, that the minimum wage were not a modest fence around the labourer’s dignity, but a monstrous idol demanding sacrifices of prosperity. Yet the truth is simpler, and far more human. The wage floor is not a chain around the ankle of enterprise; it is a reminder that civilisation begins with the recognition that a man’s labour is not a trinket to be bartered at the lowest possible price, but a participation in the common good.

The notion that abolishing the minimum wage would unleash some golden age of thrift and industry is one of those bright, brittle ideas that shatter the moment they touch the earth. It imagines the economy as a machine, humming along in perfect efficiency, if only we would remove the “obstructions” of fairness. But economies are not machines; they are parades of people, each with a face, a family, and a hope. To argue that wages must fall so that prices may rise more gently is to suggest that the poor should be made poorer so that the rich may be less inconvenienced. It is the sort of logic that would have made Dickens reach for his pen.

And as for the claim that the minimum wage “denies people second jobs”, it is a marvel of modern rhetoric: the idea that the cure for hardship is not a living wage, but the liberty to work oneself into exhaustion. The medieval serf, at least, was spared the indignity of being told that his bondage was a privilege. A society that congratulates itself for offering its citizens the freedom to toil endlessly is not a society that has discovered liberty; it is one that has forgotten leisure, charity, and the Sabbath.

The minimum wage may not be perfect. No human institution is. But to abolish it in the name of economic purity is to mistake the purpose of an economy altogether. The object of production is not profit, but people. And any civilisation that forgets this will soon find that it has produced everything except happiness.

Looking around Guernsey 1972 – Part 5

Looking around Guernsey 1972 – Part 5

Castle Cornet

STANDING like a lone sentinel overlooking the harbour mouth is Castle Cornet, an ancient fortress that has played an important and exciting part in Guernsey's turbulent history. Built, according to some authorities, in the reign of King Stephen, Castle Cornet has been the scene of numerous hard-fought battles, and on several occasions during the continuous strife with France, its steps have echoed to the tread of the invading French army.

During the Civil War in the reign of Charles I the island supported Cromwell, but the Royalist Governor, Sir Peter Osborne, withdrew with a handful of the King's men to Castle Cornet, which they held for the King for nine years. Indeed, the Castle was the last Royalist stronghold to surrender to the forces of Parliament (December 15th; 1651).

In 1940, the Germans took over Castle Cornet, although it was hardly adaptable to the needs of modern warfare. As an example of military architecture it is remarkable because it has borne the influences of succeeding armies from Norman times right up to the fortifications installed by the Nazis.

The Castle was the property of the War Office until 1948, when it was presented to the States by the British Government. It is maintained as an ancient monument and is full of romance and historic charm.

Thousands of people visit it each year, and many take advantage of the conducted tour which begins every day at 10.45 a.m. and ends about 11.30 a.m. Actual hours of opening are:— weekdays (except Saturday afternoons) — 10.30 a.m. to 12.30 p.m. and 2.30 p.m. to 6.00 p.m., and Sundays — 10.30 a.m. to 12.30 p.m.

The Castle also contains the Royal Guernsey Militia Museum, the Maritime Museum, the Armoury — showing former uniforms, models and weapons —and an Occupation Museum. More peaceful is a collection of water colours by the 19th-century local artist, Major Peter Le Lievre, a Guernsey Militiaman who has charmingly depicted island scenes and people of over a century ago.

Women visitors, particularly, enjoy the gardens at Castle Cornet, which are very fine in late spring and summer and are looked after by the head keeper and his assistants.

Victor Hugo's House

HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, the home in exile of the famous 19th-century French writer Victor Hugo, is one of the most interesting houses in Guernsey, and every year thousands of British and French people make their way up the steep Hauteville road on the south side of St. Peter Port to visit it.

Hugo lived in Guernsey from 1855 until 1870, when the Second Empire fell. His home now belongs to the City of Paris, and has been preserved as a memorial. Here, you can see all his personal belongings and furniture, just as Hugo left them.

From the high window of his study you can look out over the sea as he did, and on a fine day, pick out the coast line of his native land. Standing in his study, Hugo penned his famous book, The Toilers of the Sea, written about and dedicated to the sturdy island folk among whom he had made his home and also gave much for the poor children of Guernsey and it is as much for his charitable work as his writings that he was affectionately revered in the island.

His statue stands in Candie Gardens, and shows him striding forth in flowing cloak — just as he used to do on his marathon walks around Guernsey. In his last year of exile, the poet planted an oak tree at Hauteville, predicting that by the time it was full grown there would be a united Europe.

Hugo's oak has become a symbol of European unity, and sprigs from it tended in a Guernsey nursery have been planted in many Continental countries. In 1970, delegates from several European centres came to Guernsey to celebrate the centenary of the oak tree's planting, and take part in a ceremony held below Hugo's statue.

Candie Gardens lie just above St. Peter Port. These miniature botanic gardens contain a variety of sub-tropical plants, trees and shrubs grown in the open — including a lemon tree bearing fruit that frequently ripens.

Guernsey's colourful past



FOR so small an island, Guernsey is rich in evidence of a colourful past in the form of ancient dolmens, castles and forts. It is a quality that has come to be recognised nowadays as historical depth, and many visitors are fascinated by its abundance in the island. Although the States of Guernsey has a very limited budget in comparison to the UK government they are doing what they can to preserve and restore the most significant of these ancient monuments.

 

There are quite a number of dolmens — tombs of prehistoric tribes — in Guernsey. Probably the most interesting is the 3,000-year-old Delius Dolmen near the yacht marina in the Vale. It has been described as one of the finest examples of a passage grave in Western Europe. Electric light has been laid on there, so you will be able to see the marvellously preserved prehistoric rock carving known as "The Guardian of the Tomb".

Also interesting are the La Varde dolmen at the Pembroke end of L'Ancresse Common, and Le Creux as Faies at L'Eree. But Le Catioroc dolmen, standing on a mound overlooking Perelle Bay, has the weirdest history of all. The west coast is still considered "witches' country" by many local people, and Le Catioroc was one of the chief meeting places for the Guernsey witches' "sabbat". At this Friday-night orgy they hurled insults at the Chapel of the Holy Virgin on Lihou island, chanting, "Que Hou Hou Marie Lihou". According to local antiquarian Mr. J. Stevens Cox, "Hou" is the name of an ancient Breton god.

At one time witches appear to have got a good grip on Guernsey; island folk-lore is full of them, while the Royal Court holds records of actual witch trials that have taken place.

A pagan but more harmless lady, affectionately known as "La Grand'Mere du Chimquiere", stands at the gate of St. Martin's Church. An authority from the British Museum dates the sculpture at around 700 B.C. Poor Grand'Mere still bears a scar near her skirted shin-bones where a former church warden, affronted at the presence of a heretic so near to the church, tried unsuccessfully to hack her down.

One of the island's most ancient fortresses is Ivy Castle, near Le Bouet, said to be a Norman stronghold older than any in England, because it was built before the Conquest by William the Conqueror's father, Robert the Devil. The real name of the fortress is "Le Chateau des Marais", and Guernsey's Ancient Monuments Committee are working on its restoration, which may take some years. The size and layout of Ivy Castle, with its inner and outer baileys and its moat, could really be appreciated best from the air. From the outer circle of defence wall, sturdy Guernseymen of old are said to have hurled arrows, stones and other missiles at marauding pirates creeping towards them over the marshlands of the Vale.

 

Vale Castle at St. Sampson's is also very old, but its origins are lost in time. From afar, it gives an illusion of the strong fortification it was at one time, but you will see as you approach that it is really a ruin. Round about 1805, a Russian garrison was stationed at Vale Castle. Gentle to children and kindly enough when sober, they turned into wild ruffians under the influence of liquor and no woman was said to be safe from them. They terrorised St. Sampson's to such an extent that one Guernsey family actually emigrated to America because of them!

At key points in Guernsey you will see old fortifications that are links in a chain of defence covering centuries. Fort Pezerie, Rocquaine Castle (also known as Fort Grey and "The Cup and Saucer") Fort Saumarez — all have a place in the island's history, as do the many Martello towers.

Fort George, which has now been developed as a luxury housing estate for wealthy settlers, was a British garrison from 1780 until the outbreak of World War II, and English redcoats once swam in Soldiers' Bay.

Feudalism survives in Guernsey today in its fiefs — parcels of land owned and ruled over by seigneurs or lords of the manor. The seigneur still has special privileges, such as conge, which entitles him to two per cent of the selling price of any property sold within his fief as long as it does not change hands more than once a year.

Some of the ancient fiefs have seigneurs who are lords of the manor by right of purchase, but the most splendid example of a hereditary seigneurie is perhaps Sausmarez Manor in St. Martin's — a stately home that has belonged to the de Sausmarez family for over 600 years. It is open to the public in the summer and is well worth a visit. You will see here the old Tudor Court House, where members of the fief and their seigneur still hold feudal court once a year.

Several Guernsey churches are very old and St. Saviour's is the most untouched by the centuries, and stands at the roadside almost exactly as it was when it was built in 1394. The Vicar of St. Saviour's has launched a scheme to restore St. Appoline, which is to be rededicated afterwards as a Chapel of Christian Unity. Restoration of what a UK expert _ has said are fine examples of mediaeval frescos will probably be one of the most costly items, and may take several years to achieve.

Hitler's Legacy

IN 1940, Hitler invaded the Channel Islands, which the Germans occupied for five dreary years. To turn Guernsey into an island fortress, vast quantities of concrete and steel were poured into it and thousands of slave workers were brought from all over Europe.

It is surprising how few signs there are now in this peaceful holiday island of Nazi Germany, considering there was scarcely an acre of open space that was not used as a gun emplacement, strongpoint, observation post or ammunition store. The concrete fortifications you will see on the cliffs — particularly along the west coast — have been left because they would have been too costly to demolish, but a number of structures have been filled in, covered over or blocked to make the cliffs and commons safer and more sightly. Some of Hitler's relics such as tunnels and bunkers have been turned to peaceful uses —for storage, cow-sheds, garages and even converted into houses!

The vast underground hospital at St. Andrew's —the largest German structure in the Channel Islands —was reopened years ago as a tourist attraction. Another spectacular fortification was the "Mirus" battery near the west coast.

The Germans mounted 12-inch guns here on huge circular emplacements that you can still see. Each gun was camouflaged by a dummy cottage that traversed with it, and a network of underground quarters and store-rooms adjoined the sites.

The Occupation Museum at the Forest contains hundreds of interesting relics, set out in such a way that visitors are given a fascinating glimpse into life in Guernsey under the German jackboot.

A fictional 1984‑style passage about minimum wage

A short note first: this is fiction, written in the style of Nineteen Eighty‑Four.

A fictional 1984‑style passage about minimum wage

In the grey corridors of the Ministry of Prosperity, the new decree was posted without ceremony. A single sheet, stamped with the red insignia of the Party, announced that the Minimum Wage—long described in official broadcasts as a “historic burden upon productivity”—had been abolished for the good of all. Citizens were told that true economic freedom meant accepting whatever remuneration the Market, now elevated to a quasi‑sacred entity, deemed appropriate. To do that each would be a model citizen and a good neighbour to others.

The telescreens repeated the slogan hourly: “LOWER WAGES, HIGHER FREEDOM.” Winston heard it echoing through the canteen as workers queued for their diluted Victory Coffee. No one spoke. To question the decree was to question Prosperity itself, and such doubts were now classified as Economic Thoughtcrime.

A presenter on the screen explained that guaranteed pay had “strangled enterprise” and “denied citizens the patriotic opportunity of additional labour.” Winston watched her smile as she declared that the abolition of wage protections would “liberate the industrious from the tyranny of comfort.” The words were smooth, rehearsed, and hollow.

Later, in the Records Department, Winston saw the revisions already underway. Old reports describing poverty were replaced with triumphant accounts of “voluntary multi‑employment.” Historical documents now claimed that citizens had begged the Party to remove wage floors so they could “contribute more fully to national greatness.” The past, as always, was rewritten to justify the present.

Syme, hunched over his desk, whispered without looking up: “They say we’re free now. Free to work twice as long for half as much. And for a pittance, not the gold krugerrands for the bosses” His voice carried the faintest trace of irony—dangerous, even fatal.

Winston said nothing. The telescreen above them crackled to life: “ECONOMIC UNITY IS STRENGTH.” The room fell silent. In the new prosperity, hunger was patriotic, exhaustion was noble, and questioning either was treason.

The Minimum Grain Allowance on Animal Farm

A short note first: this is fiction, written in the style of Animal Farm

The Minimum Grain Allowance on Animal Farm

On a blustery evening, the animals gathered in the barn to hear Squealer’s latest announcement. He stood atop a crate, tail twitching with rehearsed enthusiasm. “Comrades,” he began, “it has been discovered that the Minimum Grain Allowance is strangling the farm’s prosperity. Our dear leader Napoleon has decreed that true freedom means allowing every animal to work for whatever reward the market—yes, the glorious market—decides.”

A murmur ran through the crowd. Clover frowned. “But Squealer,” she said slowly, “wasn’t the allowance created so that no animal would go hungry?”

Squealer’s eyes gleamed. “Ah, Clover, you misunderstand. The allowance has turbocharged inflation. It has denied animals second jobs. Why, Boxer could be working twice as hard if only he were free from the tyranny of guaranteed grain!”

Boxer, who had been standing quietly, blinked. “I thought the allowance was to make sure we didn’t starve,” he said. “If I must take two jobs, when will I rest?”

“Rest?” Squealer cried. “Rest is a bourgeois luxury! The true patriot works until the lanterns burn out. Besides, without the allowance, the hens will be able to sell their eggs for whatever price the market chooses. Isn’t that splendid?”

The hens looked at one another. They remembered the winter when the market had chosen no price at all.

Benjamin the donkey finally spoke. “It seems to me,” he said, “that whenever the pigs say something is for our benefit, it ends with us working more and eating less.”

Squealer puffed out his chest. “Cynicism, Benjamin, is the enemy of progress. The farm will flourish once we remove these outdated protections. Napoleon himself has endorsed this bold new policy.”

The animals shuffled out of the barn, uneasy. Boxer whispered to Clover, “I will work harder.” But even he sounded unsure.

Benjamin watched them go. “The commandments change,” he muttered, “but the hunger stays the same.”

More Short Stories: Amazing Grace

A return to short stories based on hymns. This time Amazing Grace - using the original words (and not the extra verse), and certainly not the horribly altered modern version.

Amazing Grace: 

Journal of John Newton, near the close of my days

Amazing grace (how sweet the sound)
that saved a wretch like me!
I once was lost, but now am found,
was blind, but now I see.

The candle burns low beside me tonight, its flame a wavering blur. My sight, once sharp enough to read the smallest print of Scripture, is now little more than a haze of shapes and shadows. I must hold the page close to make out my own writing, and even then the words seem to swim. Yet I feel compelled to set down these thoughts while strength remains, for the Lord has granted me many years beyond what I ever deserved. The shadows creep over me, shadows of those slaves upon my ship, shadows of a time I always regret and can never undo.

I think often of the man I once was, lost, reckless, hardened by the sea and by my own pride. A wretch indeed, and I use the word without exaggeration. I remember the cries of the enslaved, the stench of the hold, the clank of chains. I hope it will always be a subject of humiliating reflection to me, that I was, once, an active instrument, in a business at which my heart now shudders.

I remember how easily I dismissed their suffering, as though the image of God in them were a thing I could ignore. When I look back, the weight of guilt presses heavily upon my chest, and I marvel that grace could reach even me, even though I never had the least scruple to the lawfulness of the slave trade.

It was grace that taught my heart to fear, fear of judgment, fear of the righteous God whose patience I had tested beyond measure. But that same grace, in its strange and tender way, relieved my fears as well.

I recall the night of the storm, the ship groaning under the weight of the waves, the certainty of death upon us. The merchant ship Greyhound foundered and the violent storm ripped the vessel apart. I was awakened from a sound sleep by a force of a violent sea which broke on us... the sea had torn away the upper timbers on one side,. and a great quantity of water poured in. The ship filled with water and many of my fellows crew members were swept overboard. For hours I steered through the storm, in that battered wreck, losing all hope.

I had no belief in any God, but now at the hour I thought would be my death, my certainties left me like rats deserting a sinking ship. It is a fine thing to mock God and think oneself the captain of one’s soul in fine weather. I stepped out to go to the wheel, for once unsteady on my feet, and in my soul. In the moments before, another person went up in my place, who was instantly washed overboard, and it was a long time before we missed him. Had I had stepped out a moment earlier, I must have gone in his stead. I was lashed to helm to steer, while waves washed over me, and on every other side, all I saw was black, unfathomable despair.

I cried out then, not with eloquence but with desperation, and the Lord heard me. If this will not do, the Lord have mercy upon us! This was the first desire I had breathed for mercy for the space of many years. On that day the Lord came from on high and delivered me out of deep waters.

The hour I first believed was not a moment of triumph but of surrender, as though a hand reached into the darkness and drew me upward. Since then, dangers, toils, and snares have not been strangers to me. I have walked through many trials, some of my own making, others permitted for my refinement. Yet through all of them, I have been carried by the grace of God. The Lord has renewed my strength, and I have risen with wings like eagles, and soared above life's weariness.

It astonishes me still that the same God who could rightly have condemned me instead chose to lead me homeward, step by faltering step.

Twas grace that taught my heart to fear,
and grace my fears relieved;
how precious did that grace appear
the hour I first believed!

Now, as my flesh weakens and my heart grows tired, I feel the nearness of that my God. My sight dims, but my hope brightens. The promises of the Lord secures my hope; His mercy is my shield; His presence my portion. When this mortal life shall cease, I trust I shall possess a joy and peace that no earthly suffering can diminish.

Yes, when this flesh and heart shall fail,
and mortal life shall cease:
I shall possess, within the veil,
a life of joy and peace.

I remember meeting William Wilberforce, a man surely touched by God. He had failed in his fight against the slave trade and was thinking of leaving politics. I urged him to stay on. I told him that it was hoped and believed that the Lord had raised him up both for the good of His church and for the good of the nation, and the fight was not yet lost. I wrote to him: “You have a great object in view. The attention of the public is fixed upon you... and your name will be recorded with honour... when the names of those who oppose you will be forgotten.”

I wrote an essay against that slave trade. I testified before parliament about the horrors of the slave ships. I told them of how when the women and girls are taken on board a ship, naked, trembling, terrified... they are often exposed to the wanton rudeness of white savages. For it is us, the so called civilised, who are indeed the savages, caring not a whit for those enslaved apart from profit. But what profit a man if he gain the world, but lose his soul?

And Wilberforce finally reached his goal, and Parliament banned the abominable slave trade. I felt such profound relief, deep humility, and a sense that my own life's work, poor as it had been, was finally complete.

I sense the world fading around me. The earth itself will one day dissolve like snow, the sun cease its shining, yet the God who called me will remain. And I shall be His, not by merit, not by achievement, but by grace alone.

The earth shall soon dissolve like snow,
the sun forbear to shine;
but God, who called me here below,
will be forever mine.

If I have any legacy, let it be this: that no sinner is beyond the reach of divine mercy. I have lived long enough to see that truth proven in my own life. My memory is nearly gone, but I remember two things: That I am a great sinner, and that Christ is a great Saviour. And though my eyes fail, my soul sees this truth more clearly than ever.

The Moment of Eclipse

Inspired by the partial solar eclipse in Jersey on 12 August 2026.

The Moment of Eclipse

Now the celestial dragon eats the sun,
Chinese astrologers mark out the day,
Predict the times when everything is done,
And see the sun returning on its way.

The scientists have come to see today,
With Eddington’s great telescopes alight,
For Einstein’s theory is proved this way,
As gravity bends eclipse star light.

The thousands now are gathering at the shore,
For the bright sun amazes even now,
A partial eclipse, like a magic door,
Opening up to wonder, awe and wow!

See the celestial dancing in the sky,
When the moon right across the sun does lie.

1986 - 40 years ago - August - Part 2

1986 - 40 years ago - August - Part 2

August 18-24

THREE of the States Police Officers suspended from duty since earlier in the year are arrested. CID head Det. Chief Insp. Charles Quinn, P. Insp. Barry Blenkinsop and Det. Sgt. Brian Follain are taken into custody and charged with conspiring to pervert the course of justice in the case of a man convicted of robbing a betting shop. All three plead not guilty when they appear in the Police Court.

Jersey's largest bakery, Le Brun's Ltd., is fined £800 for selling goods containing glass and metal and is warned that a further offence will result in Royal Court proceedings.

Public Works abandon their plan for a gyratory traffic system at Beaumont, a scheme which was first proposed as long ago as 1969. The decision to re-think the plan follows a packed St Peter Parish Hall meeting and the presentation of a 1,777-signature petition.

A 49-year-old fisherman drowns when he falls into St Helier Harbour from the New North Quay. The dead man is named as Mr Richard McMullen, a Scot who lived at Cheapside.

The States are asked to spend £100,000 to raise the height of the Port Control tower at St Helier Harbour pierhead. The alteration would provide a view in a direction now blocked by development at La Collette.

A Finnish company drops plans to run charter flights to Jersey next season because there are not enough beds available in the Island's large hotels.

The latest figures confirm that tourism is suffering a bad season. In July hotels did eight per cent less business than they did in the corresponding period in 1985.

August 25-31

THE tail end of Hurricane Charlie sends one of the Battle of Flowers arches crashing down on Victoria Avenue only minutes after the police decide to close the road. The storm also disrupts car ferry services and blows away tents belonging to Scouts camping at St Ouen.

States and parish manual workers accept a pay offer of 6.8 per cent, but the decision is made after a ballot records 596 in favour of the award and 534 against.

Tourism's "Floral Year" competition, de-signed to make the Island a brighter and more colourful place, is judged so successful that it is to become an annual event.

Deputy Tony Perkins resigns from the States after the Royal Court dismisses his appeal against conviction on a charge of committing an act of gross indecency at the Weighbridge toilets.

 

Jambo, Jersey Zoo's male silverback gorilla, becomes a national hero when he peacefully and patiently guards a five-year-old boy who falls into his enclosure. The boy, Levan Merritt, receives head and arm injuries in the fall, but responds well to treatment after being flown to Southampton General Hospital.

Two young windsurfers, Julian Barber and Justin Horton, both aged 17, sail into the arms of the law when they cross to France on their boards. They intend only to rest on the beach, but are arrested for landing without passports.

Mr John McLaughlin is released on bail, having served 22 months of a three-year sentence for robbery. It is alleged that police officers conspired to pervert the course of justice before the hearing at which Mr McLaughlin was convicted.

Looking around Guernsey 1972 – Part 4

Looking around Guernsey 1972 – Part 4

Gateways to Guernsey

WITH over 3,000 private yachts visiting St. Peter Port each year, not to mention thousands of tons of commercial shipping, today's islanders have reason to be grateful to their ancestors who laid plans for the harbour over 100 years ago.

Today it represents a mixture of the old and the very new. Deep water berths for cargo ships have been provided — this means they no longer have to wait in the roadsteads for convenient aides — and container handling facilities have been built.

Work on the two great breakwaters — the southern one ended Castle Cornet's long history as an island — began in 1853. Ever since much of the prosperity of Guernsey has depended on the smooth functioning of the harbour.

At the White Rock, a signal station is manned at all times by trained staff who keep in radio contact with most in-going and out-going vessels.

Moored in the harbour are two boats of constant interest to visitors — the R.N.L.I. lifeboat and "Flying Christine II" St. John Ambulance's fast rescue and ambulance launch.

St. Peter Port harbour, apart from its spectacular day and night views — when Castle Cornet is floodlit —holds other attractions.

The Castle Breakwater lighthouse is a good spot for fishermen while placed at strategic points are seats for those who just want to sit and watch the never ceasing activity.

Launches ply in and out from Herm, small sailing craft bob about near the Guernsey Yacht Club, inshore trawlers mingle with larger vessels which carry over 50,000 tons of tomatoes to the UK each year.

St. Sampson's harbour, although smaller is also full of interest. It deals with private boats, gas and fuel tankers and "timber" boats. Its outer Ladies' Breakwater is another favoured angling spot.

Farther north, in a former quarry, a private company has established a yacht marina with restaurant, clubhouse and re-fuelling facilities.

On the highest part of Guernsey — some 350 ft. above sea level — the island's only airport, one of the busiest in the British Isles, has been sited. There are observation facilities on the roof of the terminal buildings which themselves contain bar and snack-catering sections.

Town on the hill

St Peter Port is the most attractive harbour capital in Europe. The houses rise tier upon tier up the hillside on which the town is built so that fine sea-views can be glimpsed from nearly every building, reached by narrow winding steps or quaint, cobbled streets.

Behind the blue waters of the harbour, bobbing with yachts and small craft of every kind, there are no proms or piers to spoil for visitors the unselfconscious charm of St. Peter Port, which still keeps something of its earlier character of a fishing village.

St. Peter Port is quite a small town, although it has — like most capitals — outgrown its original boundaries. These used to be marked by a series of barrier stones, all dated 1700. You can see one of these barrier stones outside the Post Office in Smith Street, and there's an explanatory tablet to tell visitors what it's all about.

Nowadays, the legal boundaries of the town extend outwards to include the residential belt that has grown up during the last century-and-a-half. This belt touches on the parishes of St. Sampson's, St. Andrew's, Castel and St. Martin's.

If you want to get a really good bird's eye-view of St. Peter Port, you must climb up Cornet Street and Hauteville. At the top of Hauteville, the road forking to the left leads to Fort George, and then on to St. Martin's. On the right, between two pillars is the carriageway of the Montville estate, now public property. From the carriageway, a splendid panorama of the town unfolds beneath you.

Now you can see that St. Peter Port has developed in a valley. The sides of the valley are very steep in places, and nowhere is the valley very wide. It narrows considerably towards the sea, and at the very mouth stands the Town Church, parish church of St. Peter Port.

It is the finest church in Guernsey, and, indeed, in the whole of the Channel Islands. The chancel is 12th-century, the portion to the east of this is 13th-century, and the south chapel is 15th-century. The present interior arrangement of the church is as recent as 1886. Look out for the memorial screen to one of Guernsey's illustrious sons, Sir Isaac Brock, who fell in the battle of Queenstown Heights, in Canada,

St. Peter Port shops and scenes

SHOPPING in the main streets of St. Peter Port is a special delight to visitors not only from the UK, but also from Belgium, France and other European countries — because the shops are filled with goods of every kind that often cost much less than in their own country.

This is because there is no purchase tax in Guernsey, and the duty on tobacco, spirits and other luxury goods is much lower than in the VK and many other countries. Guernsey, for instance, is said to be the cheapest place in the world for reputable makes of clocks and watches.

For shopping of a rather different kind, pay a visit to the markets, where all sorts of local produce is on display. In the fish market, many kinds of local fish — including live lobsters and crabs — are on sale.

You will probably notice the peculiar shells with a mother-of-pearl appearance which are offered for sale on some stalls for a few pence. This is the shell of the ormer (oreille-de-mer, or sea-ear, because it is shaped like a human ear). Channel Islands waters are the only part of the British Isles where it is to be found. It is looked upon as a delicacy and is protected by law, it being illegal to take ormers except during certain periods from December to April. It is also illegal to take any less than three inches in diameter.

The oldest of the covered markets is the French Halles, built as a private venture in 1780. Originally used as a meat market, it was purchased by the States in 1817. When the present meat market was built in 1822, the French Halles was turned over to the sale of eggs, butter, poultry and fruit from Brittany — hence the name of the market.

Later on, the present vegetable market was built as part of a scheme to widen and improve the adjacent Fountain Street. The States of Guernsey Dairy is also in the market, where you can buy the thick cream, rich butter and milk for which the golden breed of Guernsey cattle is famous.

Just above the French Halles, you will find the Guille-Alles Library and Museum, and in Cornet Street, the Island and Lukis Museum — which contains many interesting local exhibits