Hindsight is a fine thing! I spent a great summer in Jersey in the late 1960s when I was a student. The sun seemed to shine every day and I was with some lovely people – but unknown to me at the time, child murder, torture and rape were close by!
A friend in Glasgow set up for me to work in Jersey children’s homes during the three month university holiday. My fares were to be paid for me and I wouldn’t have to pay for my keep, but nor would I be paid. That was fine by me: in these days there were no student fees to be paid and I actually received a grant, sufficient – with a bit of scavenging – to live on during the student terms.
I was off to the sun. I was told I would be going to Haut de la Garenne. If you google that, you will find it was a home where there are historical allegations of abuse and of children being murdered and their bodies being hidden in the grounds. Happily a couple of days before I set off, I was told there was a change of plan: I was to go to La Preference, a small home for twelve children run by the Vegetarian Society.
I wasn’t a vegetarian – they were rare on the ground then, and I don’t think I had ever met one before – but that was no problem. The home was run by “Nanny”, who was probably about the age I am now. She was a sweet and gentle, but strict woman, who had a great way with children. She had her own flat at the top of the house and the children loved being invited to spend time there with her: she knew each child really well as an individual. There were a couple of other girls around my age working there too, as well as a cleaner, who did the bed making and bed changing too. Nanny’s son in law, Ted, could be relied on to do the garden and odd jobs. We girls were responsible for feeding and entertaining the children, getting them up and putting them to bed, overseen by Nanny. We had an old van, which one of the girls could drive and we often piled all the children into it and took them to the nearby beach at St Martins for the day.
I am sure this would be considered unacceptable these days, but there was an enormous communal clothes cupboard and adults and children alike were free to help themselves from it. I loved wearing the motley collection of clothes in that magic cupboard: the best fitting pair of shorts I have ever had in my life came out of there, but of course had to be left behind at the end of the summer.
The children were not vegetarian when they arrived, but they, like me, agreed that the food was fine. There were loads of lovely fresh vegetables, eggs, cheese, creamy milk and Jersey potatoes and we made lots of proper puddings like spotted dick and treacle tart. Oddly enough, the diet was also supplemented by tins of “meatless sausages” and “meatless steaks” as we called them. I suppose this was before the days of easy availability of Quorn, soya and other vegetarian substitutes.
It was a pretty idyllic time, as far as I was concerned, and a great change from the rather dirty and violent place Glasgow was at that time. It was a few years later that I stumbled across a book about “The Jersey Beast”. I was very shocked to discover that Nanny’s son in law, Ted, our obliging odd job man, had been entering people’s homes at night wearing terrifying gear and removing, torturing and raping children! It had been going on at the time I was there, but the lovely people at the home were quite unaware of it.
Now I have to concentrate on foresight – not hindsight. I hope I can do a good job of working out in advance exactly what I will need to take up Kili with me. There will be no magic cupboard for me up there, if I fail to pack anything essential in my bag before I set out!