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GUERNSEY FOLK-LORE

A COLLECTION OF
POPULAR SUPERSTITIONS, LEGENDARY TALES,
PECULIAR CUSTOMS, PROVERBS, WEATHER SAYINGS, ETC.,
OF THE PEOPLE OF THAT ISLAND.

FROM MSS. BY THE LATE
SIR EDGAR MacCULLOCH, Knt., F.S.A., &c.
Bailiff of Guernsey.

Edited by Edith F. Carey.

ILLUSTRATED BY NUMEROUS PHOTOGRAPHS OF OLD PRINTS, ETC.

LONDON:
ELLIOT STOCK, 62, PATERNOSTER ROW, E.C.
Guernsey: F. Clarke, States Arcade.
1903.

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Of late years the ancient superstitions of the people, their legendary tales, their proverbial sayings, and, in fine, all that is designated by the comprehensive term of “Folk-Lore,” have attracted much and deserved attention. Puerile as are many of these subjects, they become interesting when a comparison is instituted amongst them as they exist in various countries. It is then seen how wide is their spread—how, for example, the same incident in a fairy tale, modified according to the manners and customs of the people by whom it is related, extends from the remotest east to the westernmost confines of Europe, and is even found occasionally to re-appear among the wild tribes of the American Continent, and the isolated inhabitants of Polynesia. The ethnologist may find in this an argument for the common origin of all nations, and their gradual spread from one central point,—the philosopher and psychologist may speculate on the wonderful construction of the human mind, and, throwing aside the idea of the unity of the race, may attribute the similarities of tradition to an innate set of ideas, which find their expression[8] in certain definite forms,—while the historian and antiquary may sometimes discover in these popular traditions, a confirmation or explanation of some doubtful point. Lastly, he whose sole object is amusement, and whose taste is not entirely vitiated by the exaggerated and exciting fiction of modern times, will turn with pleasure to the simple tales which have amused his childhood, and which are ever fresh and ever new.

Much of this ancient lore has already perished, and much is every day disappearing before the influence of the printing press, and the consequent extension of education. This would scarcely be regretted, if, at the same time, the degrading superstitions with which much of these old traditions are mixed up could disappear with them, but unfortunately we find by experience that this is not the case, and that these popular delusions only disappear in one form to re-appear in another, equally, if not more, dangerous.

A desire to preserve, before they were entirely forgotten, some of the traditional stories, and other matters connected with the folk-lore of my native island, induced me to attempt to collect and record them, but I have found the task, though pleasant, by no means easy. The last fifty years has made an immense difference here as elsewhere. The influx of a stranger population, and with it the growth and spread of the English tongue, has[9] changed, or modified considerably, the manners and ideas of the people, more particularly in the town. Old customs are forgotten by the rising generation, what amused their fathers and mothers possesses little or no interest for their children, and gradually even the recollection of these matters dies away. There are good grounds for supposing that, although the belief in witchcraft attained its greatest development in the century which succeeded the Reformation, and was as much the creed of the clergy as of the laity, other popular superstitions were looked upon with disfavour, and especially all those customs which were in any way, even remotely, connected with the observances of the ancient form of religion. The rapid spread of dissent among the middle and lower classes of society within the last half century has certainly not had the effect of diminishing popular credulity with respect to the existence of sorcerers and their supernatural powers, but, by discouraging the amusements in which the young naturally delight, and in which the elders took part, it has broken one of the links which connected the present with the past.

Doubtless did one know where to look for it much might still be gleaned among the peasantry, but all who have attempted to make collections of popular lore know how difficult it is to make this class of people open themselves. They fear ridicule, and[10] cannot conceive what interest one can have in seeking for information on subjects which—whatever may be their own private opinion—they have been taught to speak of as foolishness.

Some of the stories in the following compilation were related to me by an old and valued servant of the family, Rachel du Port, others were kindly communicated to me by ladies[1] and others, who had derived their information from similar sources, and whose names I have appended to them, and much is the result of my own research and observation. The subject matter of the following pages, having been collected at various times, and written down as it came to hand, is not arranged as it ought to be, and there are necessarily some repetitions. Whether, after all, the work is worthy of the time that has been spent on it, the reader must decide for himself. Suffice it to say that as far as regards myself it has afforded an occupation and amusement.

Edgar MacCulloch.

Guernsey, February, 1864.

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Sir Edgar MacCulloch at his death, which occurred July 31st, 1896, bequeathed his manuscript collection of Guernsey Folk-Lore to the Royal Court of Guernsey, of which he had been for so many years Member and President.

This collection was subsequently handed over to me by Sir T. Godfrey Carey, then Bailiff, and the other Members of the Court, to transcribe for publication: it was contained in three manuscript books, closely written on both sides of the pages, and interspersed with innumerable scraps of paper, containing notes, additions and corrections; as Sir Edgar himself says in his preface, the items were written down as collected, local customs, fairy tales, witch stories, one after the other, with no attempt at classification. In literally transcribing them I have endeavoured to place them under their different headings, as recommended by the English Folk-Lore Society, and have inserted the notes in their proper places; and I am responsible for the choice of the quotations heading the various chapters. In every other particular I have copied the manuscript word for word as I received it. It took me over three years to transcribe, and was placed by the Royal Court in the printer’s hands in February, 1900.

It will be noticed that three sizes of type have been used throughout the book; Sir Edgar MacCulloch’s subject matter has been printed in the largest, the Author’s notes to his own text being in the medium, while the notes printed in the smallest type contain additional legends and superstitions, which have been told me, or collected for me, by and from the country people, and which I have added, thereby making the collection more complete. Also, at the end of the book, is an appendix[12] containing a few of the legends collected by myself, which were too long to insert as notes, and a small collection of old Guernsey songs, which I have written down from the lips of the older inhabitants, and which, in one of the last conversations I had with Sir Edgar MacCulloch on the subject, he strongly recommended should be included in any collection of Guernsey Folk-Lore that should ever be published.

I was well aware of the difficulties of the task which I undertook, and how unworthy I, a mere novice, was to edit the work of so eminent an antiquary as the late Sir Edgar MacCulloch; but it was represented to me that I was one of the very few who took any interest in the fast vanishing traditions of the island, that I understood the local dialect, and that I had had many conversations and much assistance from Sir Edgar MacCulloch during his lifetime on the subject; and, more especially, that if I did not do it no one else would undertake it, and thus the result of Sir Edgar’s labours would be lost to the island. This, I trust may be my excuse for assuming so great a responsibility. I feel I should never have accomplished it without the unfailing assistance and kindness of H. A. Giffard, Esq., the present Bailiff of Guernsey, and John de Garis, Esq., Jurat of the Royal Court, members of the Folk-Lore Committee, who have, in the midst of their own hard work, gone through all the proofs in the most untiring manner, and have helped me in every possible way.

The illustrations are from photographs, collected by myself, of old pictures and views illustrating the Guernsey of which Sir Edgar MacCulloch wrote, and which is now so sadly changed, and it will be noticed that in various instances where Sir Edgar writes[13] of “wooded valleys and cornfields, etc.,” in 1864, now (1903) there are nothing but quarries or greenhouses.

I am very grateful to Mr. Grigg, of High Street, for allowing me to use the photographs, taken by his grandson, Mr. William Guerin, of original pictures of Guernsey in his possession; also to Mr. Edgar Dupuy, of the Arcade, and Mr. Singleton, photographer, for the use of photographs done by them of Guernsey scenery.

I cannot conclude without thanking the many friends who have helped me by collecting folk-lore and songs, especially I must mention my cousin, the late Miss Ernestine Le Pelley, who gathered many traditions for me from the west coast of the island, and who, alas! never lived to see the book, in which she took so great an interest, in print. The late Miss Anne Chepmell, who died in 1899, also gave me most valuable assistance, and so have also Mrs. Le Patourel, Mrs. Charles Marquand, Mrs. Mollet, Miss Margaret Mauger, Mrs. Sidney Tostevin, and many others in St. Martin’s parish, who have racked their brains to remember for me “chû que j’ai ouï dire à ma gran’mère.”

Edith F. Carey.

Le Vallon, Guernsey, April, 1903.

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The Arms of Guernsey, illustrated on the cover, are from a sketch by Sir Edgar MacCulloch himself, drawn many years ago, and then described by him as from the most ancient seal of the island to be found among the records at the Greffe.

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The observance of particular days and seasons, and of certain customs connected with them, has been in all countries more or less mixed up with religion. Many of these customs have, it is well known, descended to us from pagan times. The Church, unable altogether to eradicate them, has, in some cases, tacitly sanctioned, in others incorporated them into her own system. At the Reformation some of these observances were thought to savour too strongly of their pagan origin, or to be too nearly allied to papal superstitions. Accordingly we find that in a country like Scotland, where reformation amounted to a total subversion of all the forms which had hitherto subsisted, even such a festival as Christmas was proscribed, and of course with it have fallen all the joyous observances which characterize that season in England. In Guernsey, from the reign of Queen Elizabeth to the Restoration of Charles II., the[20] Presbyterian form of Church government reigned supreme, and the ministers seem to have set their faces strongly against anything which in their estimation could be looked upon as superstitious. In the reformed churches of Geneva and France, whose discipline the islands had adopted, all Saints’ days had been abolished, and, although the greater festivals of Christmas and Whitsuntide were retained, there were those in the insular congregations who would gladly have seen these also discarded. Dr. Peter Heylin, who visited the islands in 1629, tells us how “the Ministers were much heartened in their inconformity by the practice of De La Place, who, stomaching his disappointment in the loss of the Deanery of Jersey, abandoned his native country, and retired to Guernsey, where he breathed nothing but confusion to the English Liturgy, the person of the new Dean (David Bandinel), and the change of government. Whereas there was a lecture weekly every Thursday in the Church of St. Peter’s-on-the-Sea, when once the feast of Christ’s Nativity fell upon that day, he rather chose to disappoint the hearers, and put off the sermon, than that the least honour should reflect on that ancient festival.”

We find that in the year 1622 the Clergy of the Island complained to the Royal Court of the practice that existed in the rural parishes of people going about on the Eve of St. John and on the last day of the year begging from house to house—a custom, which, in their opinion, savoured much of the old leaven of Popery, and which, under the guise of charity, introduced and nourished superstition among their flocks; whereupon an ordinance was framed and promulgated, forbidding the practice under the penalty of a fine or whipping.

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A little later, begging at Baptisms, Marriages, and Burials was prohibited on like grounds, and about the same time sumptuary laws were passed controlling the expenses on these occasions, and limiting the guests that[22] might be invited to persons in the nearest degrees of consanguinity. Dancing and singing were also forbidden, and any persons convicted of these heinous crimes were to perform public penance in their parish church, barefooted and bareheaded, enveloped in a sheet, and holding a lighted torch in their hand.

It is not therefore to be wondered at if many observances and customs, innocent in themselves, came to be forgotten, and this would be more especially the case with such as were connected with the festivals of the Church. Still some few observances and superstitions have survived, and of these we will now endeavour to give the best account we can. We would, however, previously remark that the Guernsey people are an eminently holiday-loving race, and that, notwithstanding their long subjection to Presbyterian rule, and the ascetic spirit of modern dissent, the love of amusement is still strong in them. Christmas Day and the day following, the first two days of the year, the Monday and Tuesday at Easter and Whitsuntide, Midsummer Day and the day after, are all seasons when there is an almost total cessation of work, and all give themselves up to gaiety—and the household must be poor indeed where a cake is not made on these occasions.

But before launching into a description of their ceremonies, festivals, and superstitions, perhaps it might prove of interest if we here attempt to give a slight description of the dress of our island forefathers at different periods, during the last three hundred years, drawn from various sources.

We will begin by an extract from a letter written by Mr. George Métivier, that eminent antiquary, historian, and philologist, to the Star of June 20th, 1831:—

[23]

“Suppose we conjure up a Guernseyman in his winter dress—a specimen of the outer man, such as it appeared on high-days and holidays ‘sighing like a furnace to its mistress’ eye-brow’ in the reign of the most puissant King Henry VIII., and under the long dynasty of the five Westons—(James Guille, the son-in-law of one of them, was then Bailiff). It is probable that the insular gentleman, in the highest sense of that important word, copied the dress of his English and Norman friends, as well as their manner, whether in good or evil.

“Similitude excludes peculiarity: we have therefore nothing to do with Monsieur le Gouverneur, or Monsieur le Baillif, or the most refined in wardrobe matters of his learned assessors. It is certain, however, that the generality of our ancestors—‘l’honnête’ and sometimes ‘le prudhomme’—derived the materials and cut of their raiment from St. Malo’s—whence their very houses were occasionally imported—ready built. We are indebted to a writer of the Elizabethan era for the source of the following portrait.

“Le cadaû,[2] the chief article of a Guernseyman’s winter costume, exactly resembled, both in name and form, the primitive Irish mantle. Generally composed of wool, or of a kind of shag-rug, bordered with fur, it descended in ample folds till it reached the heels. A surface[24] of such extraordinary dimensions might have exposed the wearer to some inconvenience in stormy weather: but our fathers, no novices in the art of cloak-wearing, knew how to furl and unfurl this magnificent wrapper, and suit its folds and plaits to all changes of the season. In the first Charles’ reign, the Jersey farmers, who still ‘bartered the surplusage of their corn with the Spanish merchants at St. Malo’s,’ were far better acquainted with that long-robed nation than we can now pretend to be. To the cadaû was attached a carapouce[3]—an enormous hood. If made of serge or good cloth, it was still a carapouce; if the material was coarse—such as friars wore through humility, or mariners and fishermen from motives of economy—the carapouce degenerated into a couaille. The sea-farer’s top-coat affords an instance, not yet quite obsolete, of this island’s former partiality for Armorican tailors, dresses, and names—a Tardif and a Dorey will show you their grigo.[4]

“The residence of mind—for our ancestor, this ‘fine fleur de Norman,’ probably had one—was not forgotten. Muffled up in a voluminous hood, like that of a Spanish frayle, it was further protected by the native wig—‘la perruque naturelle’—and kept warm by a bonnet, part of the cadaû uniform, yclept la barrette. The original biread—a lay mitre, not then peculiar to Ireland—was a conical cap, somewhat resembling the foraging military bonnet.…

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“His Grace, or Holiness—we are a bad hand at title dealing—the Right Reverend Primate of Normandy, having once preached a most godlie and comfortable sermon against long bushy perriwigs, descended from his pulpit in the Cathedral of Rouen, scissors in hand, then doing merciless execution therewith on King Henry I. and all the princely and noble heads committed to his charge, exhorted them to perpetrate a crime for which that traitor deserved to lose his own.”

So sings Nat Wanley, who was no nightingale; but even when the eighth Harry, and the whole nation, aping him, shore their beautiful locks, in spite of many a fond wife, what luxuriant male tresses continued to flourish in the Norman Isles! Our friend of the Star may remember the time when the dangling chevelure of our village beaux and ‘Soudards de Milice,’ though confined with whipcord on working days, was regularly let loose in honour of Sunday and other grand festivals. It is true that burly wife-killing Tudor did interfere. Ah, woe is me! He requireth from his Normans as well as from his Irish lieges ‘conformitie in order and apparel with them that be civill people’ (A.D. 1537). At least, the alteration took place in both places exactly at the same period; for the censorious terms of this statute were neither applicable nor applied to our ancestors. Indeed, from the size and structure of here and there a yeoman’s house, richly overlaid with the golden moss of antiquity, it would seem that the dwellings of our peasantry were very different from the mud-built[5] and chimneyless cottages of old England. (Such as Jean Lestocq’s house in la Vingtaine des Charités, Câtel—the traditional residence of an individual mentioned in a spirited ballad of the year 1371).

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“Be this as it may, ‘Though the language of such as dwell in these Isles was French, the wearing of their haire long, and their attire was all after the Irish guise till the reigne of King Henrie the VIII.’ These are the words of Ralph Holinshed, who quotes Leland.”

The following description of the dress of the people of Sark in 1673, is taken from a letter in the Harleian MSS.; it is quoted in full in the “Historical Sketch of the Island of Sark,” in the Guernsey Magazine for 1874:—

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“Sure I am the genius of the people cannot but be docile, since they are naturally of a courteous affable temper, and the least tainted with pride that ever I saw any of their nation; that apish variety of fantastic fashions, wherewith Paris is justly accused to infect all Europe, has here no footing, where every one retains the same garb their ancestors wore in the days of Hugh Capet and King Pippin; so that I can give small encouragement to any of the Knights of the Thimble to transport themselves hither, where cucumbers are like to be more plenty than in the back-side of St. Clement’s; each man religiously preserving his vast blue trunk-breeches, and a coat almost like a Dutch frau’s vest, or one of your waterman’s liveries. Nor are the women behindhand with them in their hospital-gowns of the same colour, wooden sandals, white stockings and red petticoats, so mean they are scarce worth taking up. Both sexes on festivals wear large ruffs, and the women, instead of hats or hoods, truss up their hair, the more genteel sort in a kind of cabbage net; those of meaner fortunes in a piece of linen; perhaps an old dish-clout turned out of service; or the fag-end of a table-cloth, that had escaped the persecution of washing ever since the Reformation; this they, tying on the top, make it shew like a Turkish turban, but that part of it hangs down their backs like a veil.”

In Jersey the “fantastic fashions” of Paris seem to have penetrated at an early date, for on the 22nd of September, 1636, a sumptuary law was passed, forbidding anyone, male or female, to put on garments “au-dessus de sa condition;” and also forbidding women to ornament their bonnets with lace costing more than “quinze sols” (a “sol” was worth about a franc) a yard, or to put on silken hoods, the wear of which was reserved for ladies of quality. A short time after this ordinance was passed, a Madame Lemprière, wife of the Seigneur de Rosel, noticed in church, one Sunday, a peasant woman wearing the most magnificent lace in her bonnet. She waited for her after church, tore it off before the whole congregation, covering her with abuse the while; and her friends stood round and applauded her action!

The most picturesque of our island costumes must have been that of the Alderney women in the last century as described by Mrs. Lane-Clarke in her “Guide to Alderney.” “A scarlet cloth petticoat and jacket, a large ruff round their necks, fastened under the chin by a black ribbon, or gold hook, and a round linen cap, stiffened so much as to be taken off or put on as a man’s hat. On one occasion, when the island was menaced by a French man-of-war, the Governor ordered out all the women in their scarlet dresses, and, disposing them skilfully upon the heights, effectually deceived the enemy with the appearance of his forces.”

At about this period the dress of the old Guernsey farmer was[29] “a large cocked hat, and thin ‘queue à la française,’ a long blue coat with brass buttons, flowered waistcoat and jean trousers. Of course this was only for Sundays and festivals. The women wore the black silk plaited Guernsey bonnet, accompanied by a close mob cap underneath, with a narrow muslin border; plain on the forehead and temples, but plaited from the ears to the chin. A petticoat of black stuff, thickly quilted, the gown—of an old fashion chintz pattern—open in front, and tucked into the pocket holes of the petticoat; the boddice open in front to the waist, with a coloured or starched muslin handkerchief in lieu of a habit-shirt; tight sleeves terminating just below the elbow; blue worsted stockings, with black velvet shoes and buckles.”

This description is taken from an old guide book of 1841. The dress was rapidly becoming obsolete then, and has now, like almost every other relic of the past, completely disappeared.

We will now return to the account of our local feasts and festivals.

Beginning with the commencement of the ecclesiastical year—the holy season of Advent—the first day that claims our attention is that dedicated to Saint Thomas, not because of any public observance connected with it, but on account of its being supposed to be a time when the secrets of futurity may be inquired into.

Under the head of “Love Spells” we shall describe the superstitious practices to which, it is said, some young women still resort, in order to ascertain their future destiny.

It is not improbable that some of these observances have been kept alive by the constant communication that has always existed in times of peace between the islands and continental Normandy, not a few young people of both sexes coming over from the mainland to seek for employment as farm servants.

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In former days the most lucrative occupation of the people was that of knitting woollen goods for the English and French markets. This branch of industry was of great importance—in fact, after the decay of the fisheries, which followed the discovery of Newfoundland, it constituted the staple trade of the island, and the memory of the manufacture still subsists in the name of “Guernsey jackets” and “Jerseys,” given to the close-fitting knitted frocks worn by sailors. So highly were the Guernsey woollen goods esteemed that they were considered a fitting present for Royalty, and in 1556 Queen Mary[6] did not disdain to receive from Sir Leonard Chamberlain, Governor of the Island, four waistcoats, four pair of sleeves, and four pair of hose of “Garnsey making.”[7] In the accounts of the Royal Scotch wardrobe for the year 1578, mention is made of woollen hose and gloves of Garnsey.[8] In 1586, the keeper of Queen Elizabet[31]h’s wardrobe paid the high price of twenty shillings for one pair of knitted hose “de facturâ Garnescie.” It is true that these are described as having the upper part and the clocks of silk. (“Accounts of the Keeper of the Gt. Wardrobe, Elizabeth XXVIII. to XXIX., A.D. 1586”). And finally the unfortunate Mary Stuart wore at her execution a pair of white Guernsey hose.

The sheep kept in those days in the island were few in quantity, of an inferior breed, described by old writers as having four or more horns, producing coarse scanty wool, far from sufficient to furnish the supply of raw material required to meet the demand of the manufactured article. It was necessary therefore to have recourse to England, but the restrictive laws of that day prohibited the exportation of wool, and it was only by special Acts of Parliament that a certain quantity, strictly limited, was allowed annually to leave the kingdom for the use of the islands. The Governor who could succeed by his representations in getting this quantity increased was sure to win the lasting gratitude of the people.

Men and women of all ages engaged in this manufacture, and time was so strictly economised that the farmer’s wife, riding into market with her well stored paniers, knitted as the old horse jogged on through the narrow roads, and the fisherman, after having set his lines, and anchored his boat to wait for the turn of the tide, occupied the leisure hour in fashioning a pair of stockings, or a frock.

In the long winter evenings neighbours were in the habit of meeting at each other’s houses in turn, and while the matrons took their places on the “lit de fouaille,” and the elderly men occupied the stools set in the deeper recess of the chimney, the young men and maidens gathered together on the floor, and by the dim light of[32] the “crâsset,”[9] plied their knitting, sang their songs, and told their stories—the songs and tales that appear later on in this collection. Our thrifty ancestors too were well imbued with the wisdom of the old saw that bids one “take care of the pence,” and the saving of fuel and oil, which was affected by working in company under the same roof, entered for something in their calculations. These assemblies were called “veilles” or “veillies,” and were well adapted to keep up a pleasant neighbourly feeling.

The wares thus made were brought into town for sale on the Saturday, but there was one day in the year when a special market or fair for these goods was held, and that was the day before Christmas. The night previous to that—the 23rd December—was employed in preparing and packing up the articles, and, being the termination of their labours for the year, was made an opportunity for a feast. Masters were in the habit of regaling their servants—merchants treated those with whom they had dealings—and neighbours clubbed together to supply the means of spending a joyous night. It may be that the restraint imposed by the Puritan Clergy—de la Marche, La Place, and others—on all convivial meetings connected in any way with religious observances, caused this occasion for rejoicing—which could not by any possibility be branded with the imputation of superstition—to be more highly appreciated than it would otherwise have been, and to replace in some degree the usual festivities of the season.

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Although the manufacture of woollen goods as a staple article of trade has come to an end, and the social “veilles” are no longer kept up, “la longue veille,” or the evening of the 23rd of December, is still observed as an occasion for family gatherings in many Guernsey households, though there is perhaps not one person in twenty who can tell the origin of the custom. Mulled wine, highly spiced and sweetened, and always drunk out of coffee cups, with mild cheese and a peculiar sort of biscuit—called emphatically “Guernsey biscuit”—is considered quite indispensable on this evening, and indeed on all occasions of family rejoicing; while on every afternoon of the 23rd of December the old country people were met riding home from town with their panniers full of provisions for the night. The next day, Christmas Eve, is called the “surveille,” and the town on that evening is flocked with pleasure-seekers, buying and eating chestnuts and oranges.

From St. Thomas’ Day to New Year’s Eve is considered to be a season when the powers of darkness are more than usually active, and it is supposed to be dangerous to be[34] out after dark.[10] Men returning home on these nights have been led astray by the “faeu Bellengier” or Will o’ the wisp, and when they believed themselves to be close to their own doors have found themselves, they knew not how, in quite another part of the island. Others have been driven almost crazy by finding themselves followed or preceded by large black dogs, which no threats could scare away and on which no blows could take effect. Some find their path beset by white rabbits that go hopping along just under their feet.

It is generally believed that just at midnight on Christmas Eve all the cattle kneel and adore the newborn Saviour.[11] The considerate farmer will take care to place an extra quantity of litter in the stall when he shuts up his beasts for the night, but none would venture to wait and see the event. Such prying curiosity is too dangerous, for it is related how, on one occasion, a man who professed to disbelieve the fact remained watching till the witching hour. What he saw was never known, for, as he was leaving the stable, the door slammed violently, and he fell dead on the threshold.

It is also said that, on the same night, and at the same hour, all water turns to wine. A woman, prompted by curiosity, determined to verify the truth[35] of this allegation. Just at midnight, she proceeded to draw a bucket of water from the well, when she heard a voice addressing her in the following words:—

She fell down struck with a mortal disease, and before the end of the year was a corpse.[12]

Notwithstanding the supernatural terrors of this night, groups of young men and women from all parts of the country flock into town after their day’s work is done, and assemble in crowds in the market place, where they regale on oranges and roasted chestnuts. The public-houses profit greatly by their presence; rendered valiant by their potations, and feeling security in numbers, they return home at a late hour, singing in chorus some interminable ditty, which, if goblins have any ear for music, must certainly have the effect of driving them far away.

By those in easy circumstances Christmas Day is now celebrated much as it is in England. The houses are decorated with holly and other evergreens—the same substantial fare loads the hospitable board, presents of meat or geese are sent to poor dependants, and families who are dispersed re-assemble at the same table. It is still customary for the poorer classes among the peasantry,[36] who at any other season of the year would be ashamed to beg, to go about from door to door some days before Christmas, asking for alms under the name of “Noel,” in order to be able to add something to their scanty fare; and before grates and sea-coal became so common it was usual to reserve a large log of wood to be burned on the hearth at Christmas. This was called “le tronquet de Noel” and is evidently the same as the Yule log of the North of England.

In the neighbouring island of Alderney, one of the favourite diversions in the merry meetings at this festive season was the assuming of various disguises. Porphyrius, a native of Tyre, and a disciple of Longinus in the year 223 speaks of the “Feast of Mithras, or the Sun, where men were in the habit of disguising themselves as all sorts of animals—lions, lionesses, crows;” and St. Sampson, on his second visit to Jersey, gave gilded medals to the children on condition that they stayed away from these fêtes; so says Mr. Métivier in one of his early letters to the Gazette.

On the last night of the year it was customary (and the practice has not altogether fallen into desuetude) for boys to dress up a grotesque figure, which they called “Le vieux bout de l’an,” and after parading it through the streets by torch-light with the mock ceremonial of a funeral procession, to end by burying it on the beach, or in some other retired spot, or to make a bonfire and burn it.[13]

[37]

“How often has it been my melancholy duty to attend, sometimes as chief mourner (or mummer), the funeral of old Bout de l’An! A log of wood, wrapt up in sable cloth, was his usual representative, when, with great and even classical solemnity, just as the clock struck twelve, the juvenile procession set itself in motion, every member thereof carrying a lantern scooped out of a turnip, or made of oiled paper.… Ere the law-suit between old and new style was for ever settled, the annual log—Andrew Bonamy is mine authority—underwent the Pagan ceremony of incineration at the Gallet-Heaume.”—(Mr. Métivier in the Star, March 14th, 1831.)

This is probably one of the superstitious practices against which the ordinance of the Royal Court in 1622 was directed. At the same time, children were wont to go about from house to house to beg for a New Year’s gift, under the name of “hirvières” or “oguinane.” In so doing they chanted the following rude rhyme:—

[38]

In Scotland Hogmanay is the universal popular name for the last day of the year. “It is a day of high festival among young and old—but particularly the young.… It is still customary, in retired and primitive towns, for the children of the poorer class of people to get themselves on that morning swaddled in a great sheet, doubled up in front, so as to form a vast pocket, and then to go along the streets in little bands, calling at the doors of the wealthier classes for an expected dole of wheaten bread. This is called their Hogmanay.”[15]

The first day of the year is with all classes in Guernsey the one most strictly observed as a holiday, and, in all but the religious observance, is more thought of than even Christmas Day. Presents are given to friends, servants and children; the heads of families gather around them those who have left the paternal roof; more distant relatives exchange visits; young people call at the houses[39] of their aged kinsfolk to wish them many happy returns of the season, and, in many cases, to receive the gifts that are awaiting them; and receptions—now become almost official in their character—are held by the Lieutenant-Governor, the Bailiff, and the Dean. Cake and wine are offered to visitors, and the day ends in most households with a feast in proportion with their means and rank in society. All the morning the roads and streets are crowded with groups of persons hurrying from house to house, hands are warmly shaken, kind words are spoken, many a little coolness or misunderstanding is forgotten, and even breaches of long standing are healed, when neighbours join in eating the many cakes for which Guernsey is famous, and which are considered suitable for the occasion. The favourite undoubtedly is “gâche à corinthes,” anglicé “currant cake,” also a kind of soft bread-cake, known by the name of “galette;” and on Christmas Day a sort of milk-cake, called “gâche détrempée” is baked early in the morning, so as to appear hot at the breakfast table; and so completely is this repast looked upon in the light of a family feast, that parents living in the country send presents of these cakes to their children who have taken service in town. A younger brother will leave the paternal roof long before daybreak to carry to his sister, at her master’s house, the cake which the affectionate mother has risen in the middle of the night to bake for her absent child.

[40]

[41]

[42]

The parsnip seems to have been cultivated at a very early period in Guernsey, the soil appearing to be particularly well suited to the growth of this valuable root. We have proof that tithe of them was paid in times long anterior to the Reformation, although not claimed in the present day. In order to secure a good crop, it is necessary that the ground should be deeply trenched, and this operation, which takes place at the beginning of the year, and entails a great amount of labour, is, nevertheless, looked forward to with pleasure, as it gives rise to social meetings. The trenching of the soil was formerly, and is still occasionally, effected by the spade alone. This was done by farm labourers and hired men with a peculiar spade called “Une bêque de Guernesi.” Made by the country blacksmiths of the island, the handle was of wood, generally ash, and so was the upper portion of the blade, which was heart-shaped, the tip of the blade being of steel. It was a very slow operation, four perches a day being the utmost one man could accomplish, so that it had to begin very early in the year, “whilst eating the bread baked at Christmas,” as the old farmers said. But about a hundred years ago the “grand’ querrue” or big plough was introduced at Les Fontaines, in the Castel parish, the house of the Lenfesteys. This is preceded by one of the ordinary size to trace the furrow. The large plough, being an expensive instrument and one that is only wanted occasionally, is often the joint property of several neighbours, who unite together to assist each other in working it. Each brings his quota of labourers, and as many as twenty-two animals have been sometimes seen harnessed to the same plough, to wit, six bullocks and sixteen horses. Every man who is fortunate enough to be the possessor of a beast deems himself bound in honour to produce it on these occasions. The plough is generally guided by the owner of the field, and a furrow is made about twelve inches deep by about eighteen to twenty-four inches wide. As the labour is social, all work with good will and emulation, and the scene is one of great animation. Of course the assistance given is gratuitous, or, to speak more correctly, is to be returned in kind when required. The farmer, however, who avails himself of the labour of his neighbours, is expected to feed them. The consequence is that the “grand’ querrue” is made the occasion of a rural feast. The cider, for which the island is famous, circulates freely throughout the day, and the prettiest girls are selected as cup-bearers. Work begins about seven o’clock in the morning; about ten o’clock a sort of luncheon called “mi-matin” is provided; this consists of bread and butter, with cheese, fried cod fish, and strong tea or coffee. At noon the cattle are unharnessed and put to feed, and then comes the dinner of cabbage-soup, a large boiled ham or “pâlette,” a breast-piece of pork, and perhaps a round of beef. At two o’clock work is resumed, with a stoppage at four for a “mi-relevée” of tea and currant cake, and occasional intervals for “une petite goutte;” for it is well known that[43] “i’faut prendre une petite goutte pour arrousaï, ou bien j’n’airons pâs d’pânais,”—“one must take a sip to moisten the field, or there will be no parsnips.” The day closes with a substantial supper, more beef, more ham, enormous plum-puddings, baked, not boiled, in the old ovens, (“grosses houichepotes”) with plenty of cider.

To this feast it is customary to invite the members of the respective families who have not taken part in the labours of the day, and the richer farmers send presents of pudding to their poorer neighbours who are not invited to share in the work. Friends and relations who reside at a distance, or in town, also join the gathering, and the best part of the night is spent in singing, dancing, story-telling, blind man’s buff, or the ancient roundelay of “mon beau laurier.”[16]

Shrove Tuesday is observed in the usual way, by a general frying and eating of pancakes, and the custom must be old, and one of the superstitious practices which the zeal of the Presbyterian clergy failed in eradicating; for, had it been re-introduced from England, it is not likely that it would have become so universal, or have taken so strong a hold on the minds of the people.

[44]

In the neighbouring island of Alderney, the first Sunday in Lent is known as “Le Dimanche des Brandons”—a name by which it is designated in old calendars, and which it still bears in some parts of France.[17] According to the late Mr. John Ozanne (de la Salerie), a native of Alderney, it was also known as “le jour des vitres,” this last word having, as he said, in the dialect of Alderney, the meaning of masks. This gives rise to the supposition that in days gone by masking formed part of the entertainment. On this day the young people made bonfires and danced round them, especially at “La Pointe de Clanque.” This dance was supposed to have had a bacchanalian origin, but was practised up to fifty years ago; they revolved round these bonfires, and leapt over them, and then, lighting wisps of straw, returned to the town by the fields, throwing about these torches, to the great danger of the thatched roofs.

[45]

On the morning of Good Friday it is the custom of the young people who live near the sea shore to make parties to go down to the beach to collect limpets. When a sufficient quantity of these shell fish has been taken, a flat stone or rock of sufficient size is selected, and, after being carefully swept and divested of all extraneous matter, the limpets are arranged on it with their shells uppermost. A head of dry furze or other brushwood is then placed over them and set on fire, and the limpets are left covered with the hot embers until they are supposed to be sufficiently cooked. Bread-cakes, fresh baked—if hot from the oven so much the better—with an ample supply of the rich butter for which the island is so famous, and a few bottles of cider or beer, have been provided beforehand by the members composing the pic-nic, and the limpets, now done to a turn, are eaten as a relish to the simple meal, with a better appetite, and[46] more real pleasure than probably a far more elaborate feast would afford.[18]

Hot cross buns on Good Friday were unknown in Guernsey at the commencement of the present century.

There do not appear to be any particular customs connected with Easter, but some old people can still remember that in their youth the children in some parts of the country used to go about from door to door begging for eggs.[19] This was called “demander la mouissole,” and was evidently derived from the practice, so common in all parts of Europe, of giving presents of eggs at this season. Mouissole is derived from the old Norman word mouisson, which means “a bird.”

[47]

The first of April is not forgotten by children, who amuse themselves on this day by attaching long shreds of paper or bits of rag by means of crooked pins to the clothes of passers-by,[20] and then crying out as loud as they can bawl, “La Coûe! La Coûe!” or “La Folle Agnès.” No one knows the reason of the latter exclamation.

On the first Sunday in May the young men and women of the lower orders arise at daybreak and sally forth into the country in groups, returning home with large nosegays generally pilfered from the open gardens that adorn the neat cottages of the peasantry.[21]

There is reason to believe that this custom was[48] introduced from England, but in Alderney it appears to have been a very ancient practice to keep the first of May as a holiday. Garlands of flowers were suspended across the street, under which the young people danced, and the day was generally wound-up by a sort of pic-nic supper or tea-drinking, to which each family contributed its quota. The introduction of late years of a large stranger population into that island, in consequence of the extensive fortifications and harbour works undertaken by Government, has completely changed the primitive character of the place, and has put an end to this picturesque custom.

Whit Monday, Midsummer Day, and the day on which Her Majesty’s birth is celebrated, are all kept as holidays, and have long been appropriated to the mustering and exercising of the Militia.

This institution differs in many respects from what goes by the same name in England, and is more in the nature of the “Garde Nationale” of France. It is of great antiquity, for we find among the Patent Rolls of Edward III., one dated May, 1337, appointing Thomas de Ferrers Governor of the Islands, and giving him directions to enrol all the able-bodied inhabitants, to supply them with fitting arms, and to[49] place proper officers over them, in order that they might be able to resist the invasions of the allies of the Scotch, with whom England was then at war, and who had recently made some descents on Sark, and on the coasts of the larger islands. The service is gratuitous and compulsory, for, by the common law, all male inhabitants, from the ages of sixteen to sixty, are liable to be called out, unless prevented by illness, or able to claim exemption on some other legal ground. Nevertheless, with the generality of the people, especially with those of the rural parishes, the service is decidedly popular. An afternoon of ball-practice, or a general review by the Lieutenant-Governor, is looked forward to with pleasure, and the latter occasion is one which affords a treat to all classes of the community. At an early hour the roads are crowded with merry groups, dressed in their best, hastening to the spot where the review is to take place. The country damsels are proud of seeing their lovers set off by their military attire, and when the men are dismissed it is amusing to see the careful wife or the attentive sweetheart produce from the depth of her pocket, or from a hand-basket, a light cap, or wide-awake, to replace the heavy shako, while the young sons and brothers, not yet old enough to be enrolled, dispute who shall have the honour of bearing the weighty musket. The review is generally over by noon, and those who are industrious may return to their work. Most of the men, however, particularly the unmarried ones, prefer making a thorough holiday of it, and for the rest of the afternoon the streets of the town are filled with groups of merry-makers; the public houses ply a brisk trade, and the evening is often far advanced before the joyous groups think of returning to their own homes.

[50]

The custom of making bonfires on the hilltops at Midsummer was formerly so general among all the Celtic nations that it is highly probable that it must have existed also in these islands, the aboriginal inhabitants of which belonged undoubtedly to the Celtic race. In Scotland and in Ireland these fires are called Beltein, or Baltein; they are lighted also on May Day, and are supposed to be a relic of the worship formerly paid to the sun, under the name of Bel, or Baal. Throughout Brittany, and in some of the neighbouring parts of Normandy, “les feux de la St. Jean” are still lighted on all the hills. In some parts of Wales and Cornwall the custom is still kept up. That some observances connected with this season still existed in this island in the early part of the 17th Century is certain, from the fact of the Royal Court having promulgated an ordinance in 1622 prohibiting begging on St. John’s Eve, “as tending to keep alive superstition,” but what these observances were, is now entirely forgotten. It has been asserted that in days gone by “la Rocque Balan,” a remarkable and picturesque mass of granite on the plain of L’Ancresse, used to be resorted to at Midsummer, and that the youths and maidens danced together on its summit, where bonfires used to be lit. The burden of an old song—

is quoted as confirmatory of this assertion. Some suppose[51] that “Balan” has the same derivation as “Beltein;” others say that there was once a logan, or rocking stone, “une pierre qui balançait,” on the apex of the rock; but there is also a tradition that the former Priors of St. Michel du Valle caused the merchandise of their tenants and vassals to be weighed, and that the rock derived its appellation from the “balances” used for this purpose.

The most probable and matter of fact solution of the difficulty is that, like many other localities, it took its designation from the person to whom it once belonged, the name “Balan” being that of a family, now extinct, which at one time inhabited this parish.

Every cottage and farmhouse in the island is furnished with what is called a “lit de fouâille” or “jonquière”—now called the “green bed”—a sort of rustic divan generally placed in a recess between the hearth and a window. This, raised about eighteen inches from the ground, is thickly strewn with dried fern, or pea-haulm, and forms the usual seat of the females of the family, when engaged in knitting or sewing, and a very comfortable couch on which the men can repose after the labours of the day. But at Midsummer, after the fresh fern has been cut, the taverns and cottages vie with each other in decorating these seats. A canopy is raised over them, and the whole, floor and all, is thickly carpeted with fresh cut fern, and ornamented with the most brilliant and showy flowers that can be procured, not scattered at hap-hazard, but arranged in formal, and often far from inelegant patterns.[22] The love[52] of flowers is almost a passion with every class of the inhabitants, and displays itself in the variety to be found at all seasons in every garden, and the taste with which they are employed in decorations.

It is difficult to say what gave rise to this custom of adorning the “jonquière,” but it is doubtless one of great antiquity.[23] Old people say that in former days it was customary to elect a girl from among the inhabitants of the district, and seat her in state beneath the floral canopy, where under the name[24] of “La Môme” she received in silence the homage of the assembled guests.[53][25] Perhaps the whole is a remnant of the old May games transferred to this season—perhaps it is an observance connected with the ceremonies with which in many countries, and especially among the Celtic nations, the sun was greeted on his arrival at the summer solstice, and in which branches of trees and bunches of flowers were used to decorate the houses.

In Sark, Midsummer Day is the great holiday of the year, when every youth who is fortunate enough to be the possessor of a horse, or who can borrow one for the occasion, makes use of it. Bedecking both himself and his steed with bunches of flowers, he goes to seek his favourite damsel, who generally sports a new bonnet in honour of the festival, and they often ride about in couples on the horses’ backs. They then amuse themselves in racing up and down the roads, and even venture sometimes to cross at a gallop the dangerous pass of the Coupée—a narrow ledge of rock with a precipice on either side,—which connects the peninsula of Little Sark with the main island. In the evening they assemble to drink tea, eat currant cake, and dance. This custom is known by the name of “Les Chevauchées.”[26]

[54]

In Jersey, the fishermen who inhabit the parish of St. John have a custom of circumnavigating at Midsummer a certain rock, called “Le Cheval Guillaume,” that lies off their coast, and in the same parish, as well as in some other parts of the island, a very singular practice has long prevailed. It is thus described in Plees’ Account of the Island of Jersey. “At Midsummer Eve, a number of persons meet together, and procure a large brass boiler; this is partly filled with water, and sometimes metallic utensils of different kinds are thrown in. The rim is then encircled with a strong species of rush, to which strings of the same substance are attached. When these strings are sufficiently moistened, the persons assembled take hold of them, and, drawing them quickly through their hands, a tremendous vibration is excited in the boiler, and a most barbarous, uncouth, and melancholy sound produced. To render this grating concert still more dissonant, others blow with cows’ horns and conches. This singular species of amusement continues for several hours: it is termed ‘faire braire les poëles.’” The same custom prevailed in Normandy, from whence it doubtless made its way into Jersey. In the former province it is now on the decline. Being observed on St. John’s Eve, it would appear to have a reference to some Christian festival in honour of that saint; or it may relate to Midsummer Day. Large numbers of the middling and lower classes in Jersey are in the habit of coming to Guernsey for[55] the Midsummer holidays, and the natives of the latter island often choose this season for visiting their friends and relations in Jersey. In the Athenæum, September 20th, 1890, it says: “It may not be generally known that in the island of Jersey on St. John’s Eve the older inhabitants used to light fires under large iron pots full of water, in which they placed silver articles—as spoons, mugs, etc.,—and then knocked the silver against the iron, with the idea of scaring away all evil spirits. There are now railroads in Jersey, and these old-world practices have probably disappeared.”

The day after Midsummer used always to be the day of the fair, held in the Fair-field at the Câtel. It was crowded from the early morning by the entire population of the island, and the hedges round the field, and even the sides of the roads in the vicinity, were filled with French women, selling strawberries, and eggs dyed red with cochineal, and who drove a roaring trade.

On the Sundays in August it was customary, a few years ago, for large crowds from all parts of the island to assemble in the afternoon on the causeway at St. Sampson’s called “Le Grand Pont.” The favourite mode of proceeding thither was on horseback, but the only object that the visitors seemed to have in view was that of seeing and being seen. It is difficult to ascertain exactly what gave rise to this custom, or indeed whether it is of ancient date. It is certain, however, that the improvement of the roads at the[56] commencement of the present century, and the works carried on at the same time for the recovery of a large portion of land from the sea, in this neighbourhood, concurred in attracting a considerable number of persons to the spot. If the custom existed previously it must have been one of old standing, and may perhaps be traced to a church wake or feast held in honour of St. Sampson, who is said to have been among the first who preached the gospel in the island, and whose name the neighbouring church bears. The calendar commemorates this saint on the 28th of July, and the practice of meeting together on the Sunday following the anniversary of a saint, in the vicinity of the church or chapel dedicated to him, is universal throughout Brittany, where these assemblies are known by the name of “pardons.” In some parts of Normandy, too, the custom is observed, and the meetings are known as “Assemblées.” If not held on, or near, the actual anniversary of the saint, they are often fixed for some Sunday in August, when, the harvest being over, the peasants have more leisure time for amusements.

Editor’s Note.—“In the southern parts of this nation,” says Bourne, “most country villages are wont to observe some Sunday in a more particular manner than the rest, i.e., the Sunday after the day of dedication, or day of the saint to whom their church was dedicated.” Antiq. Vulg., chap. xxx.

[57]

[58]

On the Sundays in September it was the custom, at any rate in the early part of this century, to ride out to the “Maison du Neuf Chemin,” at St. Saviour’s, which was kept by a man called Alexandre. There they would eat pancakes, apples and pears, and not come home till dusk. This is the “Mess Alissandre” to whom Métivier alludes in “La Chanson des Alexandriens,” “Rimes Guernesiaises,” 1831, p. 52.

[59]

Before giving an account of this curious old custom, now abolished, but which seems to have been instituted originally with a view to keeping the highways throughout the island in a due state of repair, it may be as well to say something of the feudal system, as it existed, and indeed, greatly modified of course, still exists in Guernsey. Though, from the loss in the course of many centuries of the original charters, we are left in the dark on many points, and can only guess at the origin of some of the many small manors—or as they are locally termed, “fiefs”—into which the island is divided.

[60]

It is known that previous to the Conquest of England by Duke William,[27] Néel de St. Sauveur, Vicomte of Le Cotentin, was patron of six of the ten parish churches in Guernsey—those of St. Samson, St. Pierre Port, St. Martin de la Bellouse, La Trinité de la Forêt, Notre Dame de Torteval, and St. André; and it is probable that he was lord paramount of all the land contained in these parishes. He was one of those barons who conspired against William, and having been defeated by him in the Battle of Val des Dunes, all his possessions were confiscated. On his submission he was again received into favour, and his continental possessions restored, but such does not seem to have been the case with what he held in Guernsey; for the patronage of the churches mentioned above was given by William, a year before the Conquest of England, to the great Abbey of Marmoutier near Tours; and from that time we hear nothing more of the Viscounts of St. Sauveur in Guernsey.

The other four parishes, St. Michel du Valle, Notre Dame du Castel, St. Sauveur, and St. Pierre du Bois, were in the patronage of the Abbey of Mont St. Michel, and the lands in the greater part of these parishes were held in nearly equal proportions between that famous Monastery and the Earls of Chester—those held by the Abbey being known as “Le Fief St. Michel,” and those belonging to the Earl being called “Le Fief le Comte.” A local tradition says that it was Duke Robert, the father of William the Conqueror,[61] who first bestowed these lands on the Abbey, and on the ancestors of the Earls, but of this there may be some doubt.

These lands were held direct from the Sovereign, to whom these lords were bound to do homage, but in process of time they came to be sub-fieffed by their possessors—that is, divided into smaller manors, which, instead of owing direct allegiance to the Crown, depended on their own lords, to whom they had certain services to render, and dues to pay, and in whose Courts they were bound to make an appearance thrice in the year. These Courts had jurisdiction in civil matters, in causes arising between the tenants on their respective fiefs, and had their seals, by which all written documents emanating from them were authenticated, the seals of the Court of the Priory of St. Michel representing the Archangel trampling Satan under foot, and that of the Fief le Comte, St. George, near whose ruined chapel the Court still holds its sittings. As there was always an appeal from the decision of these Courts to the supreme tribunal of the island, the Royal Court, they gradually ceased to be held, except for the purpose of collecting the seignorial dues, and, by an Order of Her Majesty in Council, the Court of the Fief St. Michel was abolished, the life interest of the seneschal, vavassors, prevôts, bordiers, and other officers of the Court being preserved.

One of the duties of the Court of St. Michel was to see that the King’s highway (le chemin du Roi), and certain embankments against the encroachments of the sea were kept in proper order and in due reparation; and in order to insure this they were bound to make an inspection once in three years.

We will now go back and consider the origin of the Fief St. Michel. Among the many fiefs in Guernsey,[62] held in chief from the Crown, one of the most ancient and important is certainly that of St. Michel-du-Valle, extending over the greater part of the northern and western shores of the island. According to a tradition generally accepted by the historians of the island, and which is in part corroborated by documentary evidence, preserved in the “cartulaires” of the famous Abbey of Mont St. Michel in Normandy, and in the Record Office in England, certain monks who had been expelled from that monastery for their irregularities, or had left voluntarily in consequence of reforms in the community which they disapproved of, came over to Guernsey about the year 966 and established themselves in a part of the island called Le Clos du Valle, which at that period, and until the beginning of the present century, was cut off from the mainland by an arm of the sea, and could only be reached by a way across the sands when the tide had receded. The monks are said to have brought the whole of the western part of the island into cultivation, and to have led such a pious life, and effected such a reform in the manners of the inhabitants, that Guernsey acquired the appellation of “l’île sainte.”[28][63][29]

It is also said that Robert I., Duke of Normandy, father of William the Conqueror, called by some Le Magnifique and by others Le Diable, having been driven by stress of weather to take refuge in Guernsey, when on his way to England with a fleet to assist the Saxon Princes Alfred and Edward in their resistance to the Danish invader Canute, was received and hospitably entertained by the monks, and in return confirmed them in the possession of the lands they had been the means of reclaiming, at the same time constituting the community a priory in dependance on the great monastery from which they had originally come; a connexion, which although frequently interrupted during the long wars between England and France for the possession of Normandy, existed until the suppression of alien priories in England by Henry V.

Like all other fiefs the priory had its own Feudal Court, by means of which it collected its rents and dues, and which had jurisdiction in civil matters between all its tenants, subject, however, to an[64] appeal to the higher authority of the Royal Court of the island.

The Court of St. Michel-du-Valle consisted of a seneschal and eleven vavassors, who, in virtue of their office and in consideration of their services, held certain lands on the fief. The officers of the Court were a greffier or registrar, four prevôts, who had duties analogous to those of a sheriff, six bordiers, who had certain services to perform in collecting dues and attending the meetings of the Court, and, though last, not least, an officer styled porte-lance—of whom more hereafter. The principal duties of the Court seem to have consisted in legalizing sales of real property, in which tenants on the fief were interested, and settling disputes concerning the same arising among them. But there appear to have been attempts made from time to time to encroach on the prerogatives of the Royal Court, and various ordinances of the latter are in existence restraining the seneschal and vavassors from doing certain acts, and even fining them for having gone beyond their powers. There was one function, however, of the Court of St. Michael which it seems to have exercised without dispute from time immemorial, but which it is impossible to account for—the inspection and keeping in order of the King’s highway throughout the island, and of certain of the works for preventing the encroachments of the sea. Possibly it may have originated in marking out the bounds of the Fief St. Michel and its dependencies only, and with this keeping in order the sea defences.[30] Once in three years, the seneschal and vavassors of the Court were bound to perform this duty, which, judging from their later[65] records, they appear to have considered rather onerous, as we find several Acts of the Court dispensing with the ceremony, the reason given being generally the interruption it caused in agricultural labours, and the loss occasioned thereby, at a time when farmers were far from being in the prosperous condition in which they are at present.

Another very substantial reason was the expense, which had to be defrayed out of the Crown revenue. According to some of our historians, who, however, give no evidence in support of their assertion, this inspection of the roads, commonly known as “La Chevauchée” from the fact of the principal performers being mounted on horseback, was originally annual, and was instituted with a view to having the roads put in order preparatory to the grand religious procession of the Host on Corpus Christi Day, but this origin of the ceremony seems hardly probable, as it is well known that the procession in question is strictly limited in Roman Catholic countries to parishes, and is conducted by the parochial clergy. It is difficult to understand how it came to pass that a subaltern Court, such as was that of the Fief St. Michel, came to be allowed to exercise a quasi jurisdiction over lands which had never been subject to it, but as it was impossible for the Court to proceed to every part of their domain without occasionally trespassing over other manors, what was originally allowed by courtesy came to be looked upon at last as a right. A somewhat similar means of assuring the keeping in due repair of the high roads existed, and probably in a modified form still exists, in the sister island of Jersey, where it is conducted by the vicomte, assisted by two or more jurats of the Royal Court, and the officer, called the[66] “porte-lance,” who exercises the same functions as the official bearing the same designation in the “Cour St. Michel.” It is known in Jersey as “La Harelle.”

But it is time to come to a description of how this ancient ceremony was conducted in Guernsey. As has been said before, it ought to have taken place every third year, at which time the Court of St. Michael used to meet in the spring to settle preliminaries in fixing the day on which the ceremony was to take place, regulating the costume to be worn by the “pions” or footmen in attendance on the Court, and other matters. The month of June was usually chosen, and on the day appointed the Court assembled, with all the officers who were to take part in the procession, at the small Court House adjoining the remains of the ancient monastic buildings still dignified with the name of “L’Abbaye,” although the establishment had been for centuries no more than a priory dependent on the famous monastery of Mont St. Michel in Normandy.

The following are translations of a few of the Acts and Regulations of the Court of St. Michael:—[31]

31 March, 1768. Seneschal nominated by the Governor.

24 May, 1768. The Chevauchée being due to take place on the following 8th of June, the Court has ruled the dress of the pions. A black cap (calotte) with a red ribbon at the back. A ruffled shirt, with black ribbon wristbands, and a black ribbon round the neck. Black breeches with red ribbons tied round the knee. White stockings; and red rosettes on their[67] wands. N.B.—This Act does not seem to have been put in force.

27th April, 1813.—The Chevauchée of His Majesty is appointed to take place on Wednesday, the 9th of the following June, for the reparation of the quays and roads of the King, and it is ordered that it shall be published throughout the parishes of this island, and cried in the Market Place, so that no one can plead ignorance.

The 27th of May, 1813.—Before Thomas Falla, Esq., Seneschal of the Court and Jurisdiction of the Fief St. Michel, present, Messieurs James Ozanne, Nicholas Le Patourel, James Falla, Pierre Falla, Jean Mahy, Richard Ozanne, Nicholas Moullin, Daniel Moullin, and Jean Le Pettevin (called Le Roux), vavassors of the said Court. The Court being to-day assembled to regulate the order to be pursued on Wednesday, the 9th of June proximo,—the day appointed by the Court for the Chevauchée of His Majesty to pass—has ordered that all the pions be dressed uniformly as follows, to wit: Black caps with a red ribbon behind. White shirts, with white cravats or neckerchiefs. Circular white waistcoats, with a red ribbon border. Long white breeches, tied with red ribbon round the knee. White stockings, and red rosettes on their wands.

And Messieurs les prevôts of the Court are ordered to warn all those who are obliged to assist at the said Chevauchée to find themselves with their swords, their pions, and their horses, the aforesaid 9th of June at seven o’clock in the morning at the Court of St. Michael, according to ancient custom, in default of appearance to be subject to such penalties as it shall please the Court to award him. And also shall Monsieur Le Gouverneur be duly warned, and Thomas Falla, Esq., seneschal, and Messrs. Jean Mahy and Nicholas Moullin,[68] vavassors, are nominated by the Court to form a committee so as to take the necessary measures to regulate the conformity of the said act concerning the dress of the pions.

(Signed) Jean Ozanne, Greffier.

On the above day, conformably to the said Act, all the pions, dressed in the afore-mentioned costume, met at seven o’clock in the morning at the Court of St. Michael, and there also were found the King’s officers, vavassors, who had to serve there as esquires. The King’s officers and the seneschal each had two pions on either side of his bridle rein, the vavassors were only entitled to one.

They began with a short inspection and a good breakfast on the emplacement east of the Yale Church. After breakfast, the members of the cortège, with their swords at their sides, got on their horses opposite the said Court of St. Michael, where the greffier of the said Court said the customary prayer, and the seneschal read the proclamation, and then they started in the following order:—

The Sheriff of the Vale and his pion.

The Sheriff of the King and his two pions.

The Sheriff of the Grand Moûtier and his pion.

The Sheriff of the Petit Moûtier and his pion.

The Sheriff of Rozel and his pion.

The King’s Sergeant and his two pions.

The King’s Greffier and his two pions.

The King’s Comptroller and his two pions.

The King’s Procureur and his two pions.

The King’s Receiver and his two pions.

The Lance-Bearer and his two pions.

The Greffier of the Court St. Michel and his two pions.

The Seneschal of the Court St. Michel and his two pions.

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The eleven vavassors of the Court St. Michel, and one pion each.

Whilst they are on their march, the five sheriffs carry by turns a white wand in the following order:—

The Sheriff of the Vale, from the Vale Church to the end of Grand Pont.

The King’s Sheriff, from the end of Grand Pont, as far as the Forest.

The Sheriff of Grand Moûtier, from the Forest to the King’s Mills.

The Sheriff of Petit Moûtier, from the King’s Mills to the Douit des Landes in the Market Place, and the Sheriff of Rozel from the last mentioned place to the Vale.

During the procession the lance bearer carried a wand of eleven and a quarter feet long, and any obstacle this wand encountered, stones of walls, branches of trees, etc., had to be cleared away, and the proprietor of the obstacle was fined thirty sous, which went towards the expenses of the dinner. From time immemorial the privilege of the pions,—who were chosen for their good looks—was that of kissing every woman they met, whether gentle or simple, their only restriction being that only one pion was allowed to kiss the same lady, she had not to run the gauntlet of the gang. This privilege of course was invariably exercised!

At the entry of the Braye du Valle the seneschal freed the pions from their attendance on the bridle reins, and gave them authority to embrace any woman they might encounter, recommending good behaviour and the rejoining of their cavaliers at the Hougue-à-la-Perre.

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The Chevauchée then went to Sohier, les Landes, la rue du Marais, la Grande Rue, la Mare Sansonnet, les Bordages, la Ronde Cheminée, and les Morets. Arriving at the Hougue-à-la-Perre the pions regained their respective stations on the side of their officers, leading the horses, and there, at ten o’clock, they were met by His Excellency Sir John Doyle, the Lieutenant-Governor and his staff, the horses of which were all decorated with blue ribbons, except those of the said Governor and of his family, who, out of compliment, carried red ribbons, matching those of the Chevauchée. The Bailiff, with his party and John Guille, Esq., also joined them at this spot, uniformly dressed in blue jackets, white trousers, and leghorn hats.

The whole cavalcade then moved on, the Governor and suite at the rear, preceded by the band of the town regiment, dressed as rustics, in long white jackets and large hats with their brims turned down, and followed by six dragoons to bring up the rear. Having passed between eleven and twelve o’clock through Glatney, Pollet, Carrefour, and High-street, they came to the Town Church, where they made the tour around a large round table which had been placed near the westerly door of the said church, which table was covered with a white cloth and supplied with biscuits, cheese, and wine, which had been provided by one of the “sous-prevôts,” and the Sheriff and the King’s Sergeant, on foot, offered each cavalier who passed the door food and drink.

During this interval the band played serenades and marches.

At noon they proceeded through Berthelot-street to the College fields, and, passing through the Grange, they reached the Gravée; here His Excellency took[72] his leave. The cavalcade passed on by St. Martin’s road to the ancient manor of Ville-au-Roi, one of the oldest habitations in the island. The entrance was tastefully decorated with arches of flowers and a crown in the centre, with flags flying, and, on one of the arches, “Vive la Chevauchée.” Here, according to old manorial custom, the party was gratuitously regaled with milk. The procession then moved on by Les Câches to Jerbourg, with the exception of the pions, who proceeded to the village of the Forest, and there waited the return of the Court. Here they danced and amused themselves as before, and being rejoined by the cavalcade at the Bourg they moved on by Les Brulliots, and passing Torteval Church arrived at a house called the Château des Pezeries at Pleinmont, where a marquee was erected, and cold meats and wine were prepared for the gentlemen. The pions were seated on the grass in a circle which had been hollowed for them, in the shape of a round table,[32] and they also had their repast. Here the procession halted till four o’clock, and by this time were joined by many carriages, filled with ladies and gentlemen, who, with a numerous party of all ranks, moved on by Rocquaine, Roque Poisson, below the Rouvets,[73] Perelle, where a particular stone lies, which they are obliged to go round according to an old custom, from there by the Saint Saviour’s Road to the Grands Moulins or King’s Mills. On their arrival there they were rejoined by the pions, the mill was put in motion, and the miller came out with a plate in each hand, one containing flour of wheat, and the other of barley, which had been ground that instant by the mill. The miller then placed himself on a large stone, and the procession moved round him; this custom has prevailed from time immemorial. The procession then continued by St. George, La Haye du Puits, Saumarez, Le Camp du Roy, Les Salines, to the Clos du Valle, to the aforesaid Court of St. Michael, where they arrived about seven o’clock, and where they were again joined by the Lieutenant-Governor, the Bailiff, and some of the principal residents. The Court having been dismissed they all partook of a sumptuous dinner, at which Mr. Seneschal Falla presided. The pions were also handsomely entertained.

The last Chevauchée took place in Guernsey on the 31st of May, 1837, but the description of the procession we have given refers to the one in 1825, and is taken from Jacob’s Annals, and the Chronique des Isles, by Syvret.

The oldest known Act of the Court of St. Michael is the following, dated the 14th of October, 1204:—

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“Les Chefs Plaids Capitaux de la Saint Michel tenus à Sainte Anne en la Paroisse du Sarazin,[33] par Nicolle de Beauvoir Bailly, à ce présens Jean Le Feyvre, Jean Philippes, Martin de Garris, Jean Maingy, Jean Le Gros, Jemmes le Marchand, Pierre de la Lande, Robert de la Salle, Colin Henry, Jurez de la Cour de nostre Souverain Seigneur le Roy d’Angleterre en l’Isle de Guernereye. Le quatorzième jour du moys d’Octobre, l’an MCCIV. Sur la Remonstrance qui nous a esté faicte de la part des Frères Jean Agenor, Prieur, en la Paroisse de l’Archange de Saint Michel du Valle et ses aliez Pierre de Beauvoir, Pierre Martin, Jean Effart, Jean Jehan, Pierre Nicolle, Pierre du Prey, Jean Agenor, Michel le Pelley, Jean Cappelle et autres Marchands et Manans, tant en la Paroisse du Valle que de Saint Sampson, qu’ils éstoyent grandement empeschez et endomagez concernant le desbordement de la mer, laquelle auroit coupé le Douvre et passage commode entre les dittes Paroisses, entendu qu’il estoit impossible non seulement de faire Procession, mais aussi d’aller traficquer les uns avec les autres aux Landes du Sarazin, s’il ne nous pleust leur permettre et accorder de faire maintenir un certain Pont passant du Valle à Saint Sampson, estant propre et passable de toutes Marées, de Charues, et Charettes, de pied et de Cheval, et à qui il appartiendra de la maintenir en temps advenir. Parquoy ne voulant refuser la Raisonnable remonstrance des avants dits, et pour le bien public, nous leur avons appointé Veue sur les Limites les plus célèbres des dittes Paroisses, dans le jour Saint Barthelemi prochain, et advertiront le commun de s’y trouver, pour ouir ce que par nous sera ordonné touchant la ditte edification.”

Another copy, which differs from the preceding in the names of the Jurats, finishes by these words, “donné par copie des roles, signé par Colin de la Lande, clerq.” According to this copy the names of the Jurats are[75] “Jean Le Gros, James Le Marchant, Pierre de la Lande, Robert de la Salle, Colin Henry, Raoul Emery, Gaultier Blondel, Guillet Le Febvre.” It is noticeable that the first four names of the copy first cited are not among these, and that the last three on this list are not in the Act which we have transcribed.[34] At the end of the second copy we find the following notice: “N.B.—Mr. Thomas Le Maître, Prevost de St. Sauveur à Jersey en a l’original.”

Originally the vavassors[35] of the Court of St. Michael were twelve in number, similar to the Jurats of the Royal Court, but if you ask why the number for the[76] last two hundred years has been reduced to eleven, the answer is—“that the devil carried away Vivien.” All that is known about Jean Vivien is that he was a vavassor of this Court, and that, in a fit of despair, he drowned himself, early in the seventeenth century. Up to about the middle of the present century three letters “I. V. V.” cut by himself on the broken fragment of rock from which he leapt into the gulf, still existed at the end of a footpath, not far from the “Fosse au Courlis”—Curlew’s ditch or grave—a spot haunted by witches.

Since then no Christian has dared to replace the[77] suicide Jean Vivien, and, when making the calculation of the symbolic vavassorial stones, his pebble is always omitted. There are but eleven instead of twelve.

This was a curious civic ceremony which was abolished in the early part of this century. In each of our parishes there are a certain number of functionaries called douzeniers, because the corps in question consists of twelve (douze) members, except in St. Peter Port, where there are twenty, and at St. Michel du Valle, where there are sixteen. When one of these officers was elected, he had to give a feast, to which the electors carried an enormous bouquet of flowers “à deux hanses”—with two handles. The dinner finished and the cloth removed, each man filled his glass, and the abdicating douzenier (le douzenier déhansé) broke one of these handles, previously dipping the bouquet into his glass, and drinking the health of the douzenier hansé. Then the bouquet went round from hand to hand, each man, while moistening it with the spirit that bubbled in his glass, adding his toast to the newly elected or hansé douzenier.

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The months of June, July, and August, form one of the principal seasons for the collection of the seaweed with which the rocky shores of Guernsey abound, and which, from time immemorial, has proved a most valuable resource to the farmer, not only as affording an excellent manure for the land, but also, in the case of the poorer cottagers and fishermen who inhabit the coast, an unfailing supply of fuel. Many indeed of these gain almost their entire livelihood by collecting the “vraic” as it is locally termed, which they sell to their richer neighbours for dressing the land, or which, after drying on the shore, they stack for their winter firing. The ashes, which are carefully preserved, always command a ready market, being considered one of the best manures that can be applied to the land in preparing it for certain crops. The qualities of seaweed in general as a fertilizer are so highly appreciated that it has given rise to the agricultural adage “point de vraic, point de hautgard”—no sea-weed, no stack yard. It has been remarked that dry seasons are unfavourable to the growth of sea-weed, and that rain is almost as essential to its development as it is to that of the grass of the field—a singular fact, when we remember that the marine plant has always a supply of moisture.

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Sea-weed is distinguished into two kinds “vraic venant”—drift weed, and “vraic scié”—cut weed. The former is that which, like the leaves and branches of a tree, are severed from the place of growth by natural decay, or by the violence of storms, and is thrown up by the action of the waves on the shore. The latter is that which is detached from the rocks by the hand of man, generally with the aid of a small sickle. The collecting of sea-weed, whether drift or cut, is subject to stringent regulations, framed with a view both of preventing dangerous quarrels among those engaged in the occupation, and also of ensuring a regular supply of so precious a commodity by allowing sufficient time for its growth. In Guernsey the Royal Court has always legislated on the subject, but on the coasts of Normandy and Brittany it appears to have been the province of the Church to regulate the matter, and the harvesting of the sea-weed never began until the parish priest had solemnly blessed the undertaking.

Driftweed may be collected at all seasons, but only between sunrise and sunset. It is found left on the beach by the retiring tide, or is dragged on shore by means of long rakes from amidst the breakers that roll in during, or after, heavy gales. This is hard work, and not unattended with danger. The men are frequently up to their waists in the water, and the shelving pebbly beach affords but an insecure footing. The rakes are often wrenched out of the men’s hands by the violence of the waves, and hurled back among them, inflicting severe bruises and sometimes even broken limbs. The collecting of the cut weed or “vraic scié” is quite another thing. Although entailing a great deal of labour, it is looked upon,[81] especially in summer, as a sort of holiday. There are two seasons during which it is lawful to cut: the first begins with the first spring-tide after Candlemas, and lasts about five weeks, during the whole of which time every person is allowed to collect as much as he wants for manuring his lands. The second cutting, which is chiefly for fuel, commences about Midsummer and lasts until the middle of August. Immemorial usage, strengthened by legal enactment, has consecrated the first eight days of cutting at this season to the poor. During this time none but those who are too poor to possess a horse or cart are allowed the privilege of gathering the vraic, which, when cut, they must bring to high water mark on their backs. After this concession to the less fortunate brethren, the harvest is thrown open to all. Then it is that the country people, uniting in parties consisting frequently of two or three neighbouring families, resort to the beach with their carts, to watch the ebbing tide, and secure a favourable spot for their operations. All who can be spared from the necessary routine work of the farm attend on these occasions. The younger people adorn their hats with wreaths of flowers, the horses’ heads are decked with nosegays, and even the yoke of the patient ox is not without its floral honours. Once arrived on the sea-shore, not a moment is lost, for time and tide wait for no man, and first come, first served. The sickle is plied vigorously, and small heaps of the precious weed are collected and marked with a flat pebble, on which the name or initials of the proprietor are chalked. The men wade across the “cols” or natural causeways leading to the outlying rocks, and, when the tide begins to flow, hastily load the carts, or the ample panniers with which the horses[82] are provided, and hurry off to deposit their hard-earned store above high-water mark. In the meantime the younger members of the party range along the beach, turning over the stones in search of that esteemed mollusc the “ormer” or sea-ear (Haliotis tuberculata) which, when well cooked—a secret only known to a native of the isles—is really a delicious morsel. Not unfrequently crabs of various kinds are turned out of their hiding places, and hurry off, holding up their formidable pincers in defiance and defence, but are soon adroitly transferred to the “behotte”—a small basket, narrow mouthed and flattened on one side, which hangs by a belt from the shoulder of the youth or maiden. Here and there a larger mass of rock is with difficulty raised, and a goodly sized conger-eel, disturbed from his snug retreat, glides away like a snake and endeavours to hide himself in the grass-like “plize” (Zostera Marina). A blow on the head stuns him, and he goes to join the captive ormers and crabs. Perhaps one of those hideous monsters of the deep, the cuttle fish, is dislodged. His long tentacles, armed with innumerable suckers, which attach themselves strongly to anything they touch, his parrot-like bill and large projecting eyes, staring with a fixed gaze, are calculated to inspire alarm, but the trenchant sickle makes short work of him, and his scattered limbs remain on the spot to form a meal for the crabs.

The laugh and the jest are to be heard on all sides—even the brute creation seem to enjoy the change. The horses, generally quiet, scamper over the sands and rocks, neighing joyously to one another; the farm dogs are busy hunting the small crabs that everywhere abound, or rushing into the water after the[83] stones thrown by the children. A more animated scene can nowhere be witnessed, and, when lighted up by a bright summer sun, none more worthy of being studied by the artist. The rich colouring of the rocks, the lustrous bronzed tints of the moist sea-weed, the delicate hues of the transparent water as it lies unruffled in the small pools left by the retiring wave, the groups of oxen and horses with their shining summer coats, and the merry faces of the peasantry, form a picture which no true lover of nature can ever forget. But the tide is rising, and drives the busy crowd before it. Before, however, they leave the strand, the younger men choose their favourite lasses, and lead them, already thoroughly drenched, to meet the advancing wave. Hand-in-hand they venture in; the confiding girl is enticed onwards, and suddenly finds herself immersed over head and ears in the water. Some, more coy, feign to fly, sure to be overtaken and share the same fate. The whole scene is vividly portrayed by Mr. Métivier in his poem of the “Sea Weeders” written in 1812.

At last, all re-assemble on the grassy sward that lines the shore, and join their respective parties. The careful housewife has baked beforehand a plentiful supply of “gâche” and biscuits; the rich golden-coloured butter has been kept from the market, much to the annoyance of the thrifty matron in town, who finds the price enhanced in consequence; the small barrel of cider is broached, and all make a hearty meal. The remaining hours of daylight are employed in carting away the vraic or spreading it out on the downs to dry, and, when night has set in, many assemble again at some neighbouring tavern and end the day with song and dance. The old fashioned[84] “chifournie” or hurdy-gurdy—the rote of mediæval times—has given way to the modern fiddle, but the songs are still those that delighted their ancestors. Most, if not all of them, have been originally derived from France, where it is far from improbable that they are now forgotten except in some remote country villages, but it is curious to find that they are still sung by the Canadian boatmen, and “Belle Rose, au Rosier Blanc” and “A la Claire Fontaine” are as familiar to the American descendants of the Normans as they are to the Guernsey peasant.

Another favourite amusement of the young people in the country, besides the merry-making which accompanies and follows the collection of sea-weed in summer, is the forming of parties to take the ormer, a shell-fish which abounds at low water at the spring-tides in spring and autumn. The ormer is the Haliotis tuberculata of naturalists, and derives its name from its resemblance in shape to an ear—auris marina—“oreille de mer.” The shell, which was formerly thrown away, is now carefully collected and exported, as it enters largely into the japanned ware manufactured at Birmingham and elsewhere, the lustre of the interior of the shell surpassing in brilliancy and variety of tints that of the best mother-of-pearl. It is not, however, for the sake of the shell that this mollusc is sought, but for the fish itself, which, after being well beaten to make it tender, and cooked in brown sauce, forms a favourite dish. Like[85] the limpet, the ormer adheres strongly to the rock, from which it requires some degree of strength to detach it, but it seems to possess considerable powers of locomotion, and appears to come up from the deep water at certain seasons of the year, probably for the purpose of depositing its ova. It is a curious instance of the local distribution of animal life that, although the ormer is known in the Mediterranean, and is found all along the western shores of Spain and France, and in great quantities on the coasts of Brittany, it has never been discovered much to the eastward of Cherbourg, nor on the English side of the Channel.

The localities in which the ormer abounds are the rocky bays, of which there are so many around our coast, and there it is found at the proper seasons adhering to the under surface of the loose boulders. It is no trifling work to turn over these stones, but the searcher often returns home laden with several hundred ormers, and not infrequently he has also added a crab or a conger to his store.

The catching of the sand-eel, or “lanchon” as it is locally termed, takes place on nights when the moon is at her full, and at low water: it is pursued more as a recreation than as a source of profit. Parties of young men and women unite and resort to some sandy bay or creek as the tide is ebbing, armed with blunted sickles, two-pronged forks, or any instrument with which the sand can be easily stirred. The fish,[86] on being disturbed, rise to the surface of the sand with a leap. They are very agile in their movements, but their bright silvery sides, glittering in the moon-beams, betray them to their active pursuers, and before they have time to burrow again in the sand they are caught with the hand and transferred to the basket. It is more easy to imagine than describe the fun and merriment to which this sport gives rise; how in the eagerness of the pursuit, a false step will place the incautious maiden up to the waist in a pool of water, and subject her to the good natured laughter of her merry companions; how an apparently accidental push from behind will cause a youth, who is stooping down to gather up the fish, to measure his whole length on the wet sand; or how a malicious step will splash one or more of the party from top to toe. To the lovers of the picturesque the localities in which this sport takes place add not a little to the charm of the scene. The broad sands of Vazon Bay, those of La Saline and other creeks on the western shores of the island, hemmed in on all sides by reefs of rock, and, above all, that most lovely spot called Le Petit Port, which lies at the foot of the precipitous cliffs of Jerbourg, seen in the full light of the harvest moon, leave impressions on the mind that are not easily forgotten.

Although the coasts of the island abound in fish of various sorts, sea-fishing, as an amusement, is very little resorted to. The reason of this is no doubt to be found in the strong tides and currents and dangerous rocks which surround us on every side, and which render it imprudent to venture out to sea unless under the guidance of an experienced pilot. Of late years, however, the extension of the harbour works into deep water has brought the fish within[87] reach without the risk of hazarding one’s life by venturing on the fickle sea, and the “contemplative man’s amusement” is becoming daily more and more popular. Crowds of men and boys may be seen in all sorts of weather and at all hours of the day angling from the pier heads, and not infrequently making very fair catches.

Although prawns and shrimps are tolerably plentiful, there are but few who take the trouble of catching them for the market, but the pursuit of these delicate crustaceans is a favourite amusement, and is occasionally indulged in by persons of all ranks, the shores of Herm and Jethou, and the bays of the Pezerie and Rocquaine being the best spots at low tide for the sport. Inglis, in his work on the Channel Islands, remarks “that so various are tastes in the matter of recreation, that he has seen individuals who found as much pleasure in wading for half-a-day, knee-deep among rocks, to make capture of some handfuls of shrimps, as has ever been afforded to others in the pursuit of the deer or the fox.”

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Although the doctrines of the Reformation were introduced into Guernsey in the reign of Edward VI., and perhaps earlier, and the Liturgy put forth by authority in the reign of that monarch was translated into French and used in the churches,[36] it was not until the reign of Elizabeth that the island became wholly Protestant.

Up to this time the Channel Islands had formed part of the Diocese of Coutances in Normandy,[37] an arrangement which led to much inconvenience in times of war between France and England. Queen[90] Elizabeth put an end to this connection in the year 1568,[38] and attached the islands to the See of Winchester; but it was not until the Restoration of Charles II. that the change took full effect, and that the islands were brought entirely within the discipline of the Church of England by authority of the Bill of Uniformity.

It is well known that it was part of Queen Elizabeth’s policy to favour the Huguenot party in France; and that in times of persecution the followers of the Reformed faith always met with an hospitable reception in England. The Channel Islands, lying so close to the coast of France, and speaking the same language as was used in continental Normandy, were naturally chosen as places of refuge in times of persecution by the French Protestants, many of whom—and among them several ministers—resorted thither until more settled times enabled them to return to their own homes. The old Roman Catholic rectors of the parishes in Guernsey, who, apparently, had given a sort of half adhesion to the intermediate order of things, and had been allowed to retain possession of a portion, at least, of the emoluments of their benefices, seem to have disappeared altogether shortly after the excommunication of the Queen by Pope Pius V. in 1570.

The Governor of Guernsey, Sir Thomas Leighton,[91] who favoured the views of the Puritan party in the Church, filled up the vacant pulpits with French refugee ministers, and probably it would have been difficult at that time to find any others.[39] The same course seems to have been followed in Jersey. These ministers very naturally preferred their own form of conducting divine worship to that of the Anglican Church, and, on the representation of the Governors of both the islands, permission was given by the Queen for the use of the Genevan form in the churches of the towns of St. Peter Port in Guernsey, and of St. Helier in Jersey. This permission was renewed by King James I. on his accession to the throne; and the natural consequence was, that not only the Presbyterian form of worship soon spread into every parish in the islands, but that the Presbyterian discipline and Church government were firmly established, and the authority of the Bishop of Winchester totally ignored. To this discipline the people of Guernsey clung with great pertinacity, and the attempts during the Great Rebellion of the Brownists and other fanatical sects to introduce their peculiar doctrines, met with little or no favour. It was not without some opposition that Episcopacy was brought in, most of the ministers refusing to conform to the new order of things, and[92] giving up their livings in consequence.[40] The people had nothing to say in the matter: they were bound by the Act of Uniformity, but, in deference to their feelings and prejudices, certain practices were allowed to be retained, and certain others dispensed with.

No great objection could be made to a set form of prayer, for something of the kind was in use in the French Reformed Church; but the Litany of the Church of England seems to have given great offence—probably from its close resemblance to some of those used in the Romish Church—insomuch that many persons at first abstained altogether from attending the morning service; and, although in the present day no objection exists to this, or any other part of the Liturgy, it is, perhaps, owing to habits then contracted, and handed down from generation to generation, that so many, especially in the rural parishes, absent themselves from church in the forenoon. The use of the sign of the cross in baptism, in deference to the strong prejudices of the people, who seem to have looked upon it as the Mark of the Beast, was not at first insisted upon, but, in order to counteract this feeling, the thirtieth Canon “On the lawful use of the Cross in Baptism,” was inserted at[93] the end of the Baptismal Service in the French translation of the Book of Common Prayer printed for use in the islands, and there is every reason to believe that the objection to this practice soon died out.

Probably, kneeling at the Holy Communion was received with little favour, for we find that the first introduction of this practice on the 12th of October, 1662, was thought worthy of a note in a journal kept by a parish clerk and schoolmaster of that day—Pierre Le Roy—who wisely abstained from any comment on the event. To this day appliances for kneeling are rare in many pews, and at the beginning of the nineteenth century most of the congregation remained seated during the singing of the metrical psalms, as is the practice in the Presbyterian churches in Scotland and on the Continent.

Baptismal fonts are of recent introduction, the order to put them up in all the parish churches having been given by the Bishop of Winchester (Dr. C. R. Sumner) on the occasion of his primary visitation to this portion of his diocese in September, 1829, he being the first Prelate of that See who had deigned to inspect the state of the churches in the islands since the time that they were placed under the care of an Anglican Bishop by Queen Elizabeth. Before fonts were provided, the rite of baptism was administered at the altar, the minister, standing within the rail, receiving the water at the proper moment from the clerk, who poured it into his hand from a silver ewer.

In the absence of periodical visits from a Bishop, the rite of confirmation had, of course, become a dead letter. It was administered in 1818, for the first time since the Reformation, by Dr. Fisher, Bishop of[94] Salisbury, who had been deputed to consecrate two newly-erected churches by the then Bishop of Winchester, who was too old and infirm to undertake the duty himself. Before that time—and indeed for some considerable time later—it was customary to give notice from the pulpit, previously to the quarterly celebration of the Holy Communion, that young persons desirous of communicating for the first time should attend in the vestry on a certain day. This notice was, of course, given in the parish churches in French—the language of the great majority of the people of that time—and the word used for “vestry,” and which we have so translated, was “Consistoire.” No doubt, under the Presbyterian discipline, the examination of catechumens took place before the Consistory, composed of the minister and elders of the church.

Till a comparatively recent period the Holy Communion was only administered quarterly, and at the great festivals of Christmas, Easter, Whitsuntide and Michaelmas. A preparatory sermon was generally preached at an evening service held on the day before the communion, and on this occasion a metrical version of the Decalogue was usually sung instead of a psalm or hymn. This was a practice borrowed from the French Reformed Church, as was also that of singing the 100th Psalm while the non-communicants were leaving the church, some portions of the 103rd Psalm while the communion was being administered, and, just before the final benediction, the Song of Simeon, “Nunc Dimittis.”

Men and women communicated separately, the men first and the women afterwards,—a relic doubtless of the time when they were kept apart in the church. No one thought of leaving the rails until all who knelt[95] at the same time had communicated, when the officiating minister dismissed them with these words:—

Or

They then retired to make room for others. In parishes where weekly collections were made at the church door for the relief of the poor, it was customary for the minister to say immediately after the final benediction:

All these peculiar customs, which had been handed down from Presbyterian times, are rapidly disappearing. In the days when the celebration of the Lord’s Supper was confined to stated days, it was the custom in some of the country parishes to deck out the churches for the occasion with branches of evergreens, as at Christmas. Also, on the day of the communion it was considered irregular to appear in coloured clothes. Black was universally worn, and many old people, both in town and country, but especially in the country, keep to the old custom.

The practice of publishing the banns of marriage immediately after the recital of the Nicene Creed, and not after the Second Lesson, as is done in England, has been retained in Guernsey; the Act of Parliament of George II., which was supposed to change the custom of the church in this respect, and to do away with the express injunctions in the rubric, not including the Channel Islands in its provisions. In the country parishes, where the[96] cemeteries are in the immediate vicinity of the churches, it is now—though it was not so in former days—the custom to carry the corpse into the church for the reading of the appointed Psalms and Lesson; but in Town, where the burial-grounds are, for the most part, at some considerable distance from the sacred building, this part of the service was, till of late years, entirely dispensed with. It is customary, however, for the Clergy, sometimes to the number of three or four, to attend at the house of the deceased, if invited so to do, and to head the procession to the church or cemetery. A pious custom existed formerly—which, one is sorry to say, has of late years fallen almost entirely into disuse—no man ever commenced a new work, or even began the usual routine work of the season, without making use of these words “Au nom de Dieu soit!” Wills and many other legal documents, the books in which the Acts of the Royal Court and of the States of the island are registered, as well as those used by merchants and tradesmen in their business, all commenced with this formula. In many cases it evidently took the place of the sign of the cross. All sittings of the Royal Court and of the States of the island, as well as the meetings of parishioners in the Vestry, and of the parochial councils known as Douzaines, are opened by the recitation of the Lord’s Prayer, and closed by the Apostolic Benediction.

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On the birth of a child notice is usually sent to the nearest relations, and as soon as the mother is sufficiently recovered she receives the visits and congratulations of her friends. It is customary to offer cake and wine to the visitors on these occasions. The wine must on no account be refused, but the health of the child must be duly drunk, and the glass drained, for it is considered extremely unlucky to leave a drop behind. The christening feast still retains the ancient name of “Les Aubailles” from the white garment or alb—in French “aube”—with which, in the early church, the recipients of baptism were solemnly invested. It is customary for the sponsors to make a present to the child, which usually takes the form of silver spoons, or a drinking cup. Before the re-establishment of Episcopacy at the Restoration there appears to have been only one sponsor of each sex. Of course the rubric which orders that every boy shall have two godfathers, and every girl two godmothers, is now complied with, but the second is invariably styled by the people the “little” godfather or godmother, and is often a child or very young person evidently only put in to comply with the requirements of the church.

The excess of feasting at baptisms and churchings as well as at marriages and funerals seems to have reached to such an extent in the early part of the seventeenth century as to call for repressive measures on the part of the legislature, at that time deeply imbued with a puritanical spirit, and sumptuary laws[98] of a very stringent nature were promulgated restricting the invitations on these occasions to the nearest relations, and prohibiting entirely all dancing, and even almsgiving.

After baptism the child is sent round to its nearest relatives, and the old women say that a present of some sort, preferably an egg, should be placed in the infant’s hands, while visitors to the child are always expected to put some money in the infant’s hand for luck, and as a token that it shall never want, the value of the gift being of little moment.

It is thought very unlucky to measure or weigh a child, such a proceeding being sure to stop its growth; and it is also supposed to be very unlucky to cover up a baby’s face when taking it to the church to be christened, until the ceremony is over.

It is considered peculiarly unlucky for three children to be presented at the font at the same time for baptism, as it is firmly believed that one of the three is sure to die within the year.[41]—Communicated by the Rev. C. D. P. Robinson, Rector of St. Martin’s.

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From the reign of Elizabeth to the Restoration of Charles II., the Presbyterian form of church government, with its rigorous discipline, prevailed in the Island, and the betrothal—“fiançailles”[42] of persons intending to take upon themselves the holy state of matrimony was a solemn act, performed in the presence of the ministers and elders of the church, and which by an ordinance of the Royal Court of the year 1572, was to be followed by marriage within six months at the latest. The legislature of that day evidently disapproved of long engagements. The promise was usually confirmed by a gift on the part of the bridegroom of some article of value, which was to be held by the bride as an earnest for the performance of the contract, and returned in case the match was broken off by mutual consent. Traces of[100] this custom are still to be observed in the formal announcement of the engagement to relations, and in the visits paid to them by the young couple in order to introduce each other reciprocally to those with whom they are to be hereafter more closely connected, as well as in the importance attached to the presents, locally termed “gages”[43] (pledges) given by the young man to his affianced bride.

A round of entertainments usually succeeds the announcement of the intended marriage, at which in former days mulled wine used to be “de rigueur,” as indeed it was at all family merry makings and occasions of rejoicings.

Among the trading, agricultural, and labouring classes each party is expected to bring his or her portion of the articles necessary to set up housekeeping. The man, for example, provides the bedstead, the woman, the bed and the household linen, and very often the crockery and furniture. All, however, is looked upon as belonging to the wife, and is frequently secured to her by a regular contract entered into before marriage, so that in case of the husband getting into pecuniary difficulties, his creditors cannot lay claim to the household furniture. The handsomely carved oaken chests, or large leather-covered boxes studded with brass nails, which were formerly to be seen in almost all the old country houses, were used to contain the stock of linen, and appear to have been in early days almost the only piece of ornamental furniture of which the house could boast. This used to be brought to the bridegroom’s residence, with the[101] rest of the articles provided by the bride, a day or two before the wedding, and with a certain degree of form, the bridegroom, or his best man, conducting the cart which contained them,[44] and the nearest unmarried female relative of the bride carrying the looking-glass or some other valued or brittle article. A similar custom still exists in Normandy and Brittany. It is considered highly unlucky for a bride to take any other way in going to the church to be married than that which she follows when going thither for her usual devotions. Flowers and rushes are invariably strewn in the path of the bride and bridegroom as they leave the church, and before the door of their future habitation.[45]

On the first or second Sunday after their wedding the newly-married pair appear in church attended by[102] the best man and the bridesmaid, and it is a point of etiquette for the bride and bridegroom to read and sing out of the same book, however many books there may be in the pew. Among well-to-do people a series of parties in honour of the young couple ensue, which in the dialect of the country are called “reneuchons,” “neuches” being the local pronunciation of the French word “noces.”

It appears from an ordinance of the Royal Court of 1625, when the puritanical spirit, which had come in with the Genevan discipline, was at its height, that the poor at that time were in the habit of soliciting alms at weddings, baptisms, and burials. This practice, as tending to keep up superstition and as dishonouring to God, was expressly forbidden by the legislation under[103] pain of corporal punishment to the beggar, and a fine to the giver of alms.[46]

As soon as a death occurs in a family a servant or friend is immediately sent round to announce the sad event to all the nearest relatives of the deceased, and the omission of this formality is looked upon as a great slight, and a legitimate cause of offence. If any person enter a house where a corpse is lying it is considered a mark of great disrespect not to offer a sight of it, and it is thought equally disrespectful on the part of the visitor if the offer is declined, as the refusal is supposed to bring ill-luck on the house. When the day is fixed for the funeral a messenger is sent to invite the friends and relatives to attend, and in times gone by if those to be invited resided at any distance it was considered proper that this messenger should be mounted on a black horse.[104] Formerly the funeral feast was universal, of late years it is seldom heard of except in some of the old country families of the middle classes, among whom ancient customs generally abide longer than among the classes immediately above or below them.

The lid of the coffin is not screwed down until all the guests are assembled, and the person whose business it is to see to it, comes into the room where they are met, and invites them to take a last look. Hearses are almost unknown, even in cases where the distance from the house to the cemetery is considerable. The coffin is almost invariably borne on the shoulders by hired bearers, but in former days it was only persons of a certain standing in society who were considered entitled to this honour; the poor were carried by their friends, three on each side, bearing the coffin slung between them. Care was always taken that the corpse was carried to the church by the way the deceased was in the habit of taking during his lifetime.[47]

The custom of females attending funerals, which was formerly universal, has disappeared entirely from the town, but in the country it is still occasionally observed, the mourners being attired in long black cloaks with hoods that almost conceal the face. The funeral feast, when there is one, takes place when the cortège returns to the house of mourning. A chair is placed at the table where the deceased was wont to sit, and a knife, fork, plate, etc., laid before[105] it as if he were still present.[48] Tea and coffee, wine, cider, and spirits, cakes, bread and cheese, and more especially a ham, are provided for the occasion. The last-named viand was, in bygone days, almost considered indispensable, and where they kept pigs,—and almost everyone then kept pigs—every year, when the pig was killed, a ham was put away “in case of a funeral” and was not touched till the next pig was killed and another ham was put in readiness; and from thence it comes that “màngier la tchesse à quiqu’un”—“to eat a person’s ham”—is proverbially used in the sense of attending his funeral. The first glass of wine is drunk in silence to the memory of the departed, whose good qualities are then dilated upon, but the conversation soon becomes general, and it not unfrequently happens that more liquor is imbibed than is altogether good for the guests. In fact the mourners had generally to be conveyed home in carts.[49]

From ancient wills it seems that money was sometimes left for the purpose of clothing a certain number of poor, and from the ordinances of the Royal[106] Court prohibiting begging at funerals, or even the voluntary giving of alms on these occasions, it is not improbable that the custom of distributing doles was, at one time, almost general. There is no trace of it in the present day.

Till within the last few years it was almost an universal custom, even among the dissenters, for the members of a household in which a death had occurred, to attend their parish church in a body on the first or second Sunday after the funeral, and the custom is still kept up to a certain extent. If they are regular frequenters of the church they occupy their usual seats, if not, they are placed, if possible, in some conspicuous part of the building, where they remain seated during the entire service, not rising even during those portions of the service in which standing is prescribed by the rubric. This is called “taking mourning,” in French “prendre le deuil.” Widows remain seated in church during the whole of the first year of their widowhood.

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The island of Guernsey still contains many of those rude and ponderous erections commonly known by the name of Cromlechs, or Druids altars. The upright pillar of stone or rude obelisk, known to antiquaries by the Celtic name of Menhir also exists among us. Many of these ancient monuments have no doubt disappeared with the clearing of the land and the enormous amount of quarrying, and many have doubtless been broken up into building materials, or converted into fences and gateposts. But the names of estates and fields still point out where they once existed. Thus we find more than one spot with[110] the appelation of “Pouquelaye.”[50] “Longue Rocque,” or “Longue Pierre,” and the names of “Les Camps Dolents,” “Les Rocquettes,” and “Les Tuzés” indicate the sites of monuments which have long since disappeared.

The researches carried on with so much care and intelligence by Mr. Lukis have clearly proved that the Cromlechs were sepulchral; perhaps the burial places of whole tribes, or at least of the families of the chieftains. This does not preclude the popular notion of their having been altars, for it is well known that many pagan nations were in the habit of offering sacrifices on the tombs of their dead.

The following is a list of the principal Druidical structures, etc., which we can identify, with an account of the traditional beliefs attached to them of their origin, etc.:—

The large Cromlech at L’Ancresse called “L’Autel des Vardes.”

The smaller Cromlech in the centre of L’Ancresse, with a portion of another similar structure to the east of it.

A small portion of a Cromlech at La Mare ès Mauves, on the eastern base of the Vardes, almost in front of the target belonging to the Royal Guernsey Militia.

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“La Roque Balan.”

“La Roque qui Sonne” (destroyed).

“Le Tombeau du Grand Sarrazin,” in the district called Fortcàmp (destroyed).

“L’Autel de Déhus,” near above.

Small Cromlech at “La Vieille Hougue” (destroyed).

“Le Trépied” or the “Catioroc.”

“Menhir” or “Longue Pierre” at Richmond.

“Creux ès Fées”[51] in the parish of St. Pierre-du-Bois.

“La Longue Roque” or “Palette ès Fées” at the Paysans.

“La Roque des Fées” (destroyed).

“Le Gibet des Fées” (destroyed).

“La Chaire de St. Bonit” (destroyed).

In the Island of Herm there are six or eight mutilated remains of Cromlechs. In Lihou, none are left. In Sark, none are left.

It will be seen that the druidical stones are believed to be the favourite haunt of the fairy folk, who live in the ant hills which are frequently to be found in their vicinity, and who would not fail to punish the audacious mortal who might venture to remove them.

This consists of five enormous blocks of granite, laid horizontally on perpendicular piles, as large as their enormous covering. Around it, the remains of[113] a circle of stones, of which the radius is thirty-three feet, and the centre of which coincides with the tomb. Mr. Métivier says in his “Souvenirs Historiques de Guernesey” that this “Cercle de la Plaine,” in Norse Land Kretz, on this exposed elevation, could not fail to attract the attention of the Franks, Saxons, and Normans, and thus gave its name to the surrounding district.

In it were found bones, stone hatchets, hammers, skulls, limpet shells, etc., etc.

It is perhaps to this latter fact that we must attribute the idea which is entertained by the peasantry that hidden treasures, when discovered by a mortal, are transformed in appearance by the demon who guards them into worthless shells.

“La Roque Balan” was situated at the Mielles, in the Vale parish. It is supposed by some to have taken its name from Baal, Belenus, (the Sun God), the Apollo of the Gauls, whom the Thuriens, a Grecian colony, called Ballen, “Lord and King,” and to whom they dedicated a temple at Baïeux. The custom of lighting fires in honour of Bel or Baal continued in Scotland and Ireland almost to the beginning of this century. In Guernsey, at Midsummer, on the Eve of St. John’s Day, June 24th, the people used to go to this rock and there dance on its summit, which Mr. Métivier describes in 1825 as being quite flat. The refrain of an old ballad proved this:

Some people conjecture this rock to be the base of a balancing, or Logan stone, and others again that[114] it was the site where Dom Mathurin, Prior of St. Michel, weighed in the balances the commodities of his tenants. But the most probable supposition is that it was named after the Ballen family, former residents of this neighbourhood.

Near this rock stood

This was the name given by the peasantry to a large stone which formerly stood on the borders of L’Ancresse, in the Vale parish. There is no doubt that it formed part of a Cromlech, and it is said that when struck it emitted a clear ringing sound. It was looked upon in the neighbourhood as something supernatural, and great was the astonishment and consternation of the good people of the Clos du Valle, when Mr. Hocart, of Belval, the proprietor of the field in which it stood, announced his intention of breaking it up in order to make doorposts and lintels for the new house he was on the point of building. In vain did the neighbours represent that stone was not scarce in the Vale, and that there was no necessity for destroying an object of so much curiosity. No arguments could prevail with him, not even the predictions of certain grey-headed men, the oracles of the parish, who assured him that misfortune was sure to follow his sacrilegious act. He was one of those obstinate men, who, the more they are spoken to, the less will they listen to reason, and finally the stone-cutters were set to work on the stone.

But now a circumstance occurred which would have moved any man less determined than Hocart from his purpose. Every stroke of the hammer on the stone was heard as distinctly at the Church of St. Michel du Valle, distant nearly a mile, as if the quarrymen[115] were at work in the very churchyard itself![52] Orders were nevertheless given to the men to continue their work. The stone was cut into building materials, and the new house was rapidly approaching completion without accident or stoppage. Hocart laughed at the predictions of the old men, who had foretold all sorts of disasters.

At last the day arrived when the carpenters were to quit the house. Two servant maids,—or, as others have it, a servant man and a maid,—were sent at an early hour to assist in cleaning and putting things to rights for the reception of the family, but at eight o’clock in the morning a fire broke out in the house, and its progress was so rapid that the poor servants had not time to save themselves, but perished in the flames. Before noon the house was one heap of smoking ruins, but it could never be discovered how the fire had originated.

Hocart’s misfortunes, however, were not at an end. Some part of the rock had been cut into paving stones for the English market, and the refuse broken up into small fragments for making and repairing roads. In the course of the year the one and the other were embarked for England on board of two vessels in which Hocart had an interest as shareholder, but, strange to say, both vessels perished at sea.

Hocart himself went to reside in Alderney, but was scarcely settled there when a fire broke out and destroyed his new dwelling.

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He then determined on returning to Guernsey, but when close to land a portion of the rigging of the vessel on board which he sailed, fell on his head, fractured his skull, and he died immediately.[53]

There is another instance given of the ill luck which waits on those who interfere with the Cromlech and disturb the repose of the mighty dead[54] in the “Legend of La Haye du Puits,” which is drawn from an ancient chronicle and published in versified form by “M. A. C.,” with extracts from Mrs. White’s notes. The legend runs thus:—

In the reign of Henry II. of England Geoffrey of Anjou raised a rebellion against him in Normandy. Not wishing to be a rebel, Sir Richard of La Haye du Puits, a noble Norman knight, fled from thence to Guernsey, and landed in Saints’ Bay. He settled in Guernsey and proceeded to build himself a house, which he named after his Norman mansion “La Haye du Puits.” Unfortunately for himself, in so doing he destroyed an old Cromlech. All the inhabitants told him that he would in consequence become cursed, and a settled gloom descended upon him. Nothing could cheer him; he felt he was a doomed man. At last he thought that perhaps by resigning the house and dedicating it to God he might avert his fate. So he gave it to the Church, and turned it into a nunnery, making it a condition that the abbess and nuns should daily pray that the curse might be removed from him.

He then set sail from Rocquaine Bay, for France,[118] the rebellion being over, and his wife, Matilda, awaiting him in their old home. But on his way his ship was captured by Moorish pirates, and he was taken as prisoner to Barbary. When there, his handsome presence made so much impression on the governor’s wife that she entreated he might be allowed to guard the tower where she resided with her maidens.

What was his astonishment when one of them looked out, and, recognising a fellow countryman, called out and told him that she was Adèle, daughter of his old friend and neighbour, Ranulph. She also had been taken prisoner by these pirates, by whom her father had been killed; she implored him to effect her escape. She handed him her jewels, and with these he bribed their jailers, and he, she, and her nurse Alice, all managed to escape to France. He took her to the Norman “Haye du Puits,” and there, according to the old chronicle, he found his wife, Matilda, and all “in a right prosperous and flourishing condition.” From there Adèle married a Hugh d’Estaile, a young Norman knight, high in the favour of King Henry.

But the spirits of the Cromlech were not yet appeased. Sir Richard could not shake off the brooding care and haunting night-mares which always oppressed him, though he tried to propitiate heaven by building two churches in Normandy, “St. Marie du Parc,” and “St. Michel du Bosq,” “for the deliverance of his soul,” but it was of no avail, and he died, a wretched and broken-down man. Even the nuns in the Convent of the Haye du Puits were so harassed and distressed, that finally they decided to leave it; it is said that one unquiet nun haunts the house to this day. Since then it has passed through[119] many hands, but tradition says that for many years it never brought good fortune to its possessors.

In the district called Le Tort Càmp, near Paradis, was one of the principal Cromlechs at the Vale, now quarried away, called “L’Autel,” or “Le Tombeau du Grand Sarrazin.” Who “Le Grand Sarrazin” was, it is now impossible to say. He is also called Le Grand Geffroi, and his castle—from whence the name “Le Castel”—stood where the Church of Ste. Marie-du-Castel now stands. He must have been one of those piratical sea kings, who, under the various appellations of Angles, Saxons, Danes, and Northmen or Normans, issued from the countries bordering on the North Sea and the Baltic, and invaded the more favoured regions of Britain and Gaul. The name “Geffroy,” (Gudfrid, or “la paix de Dieu”) seems to confirm this tradition. As to the term “Sarrazin”—Saracen, although originally given to the Mahometans who invaded the southern countries of Europe, it came to be applied indifferently to all marauding bands; and Wace, the poet and historian, a native of Jersey, who lived and wrote in the reign of Henry II., in speaking of the descent of the Northmen on these islands, calls them expressly “La Gent Sarrazine.” Among the many Geoffreys of the North whom history celebrates, there is one, a son of King Regnar, who may be the one celebrated in our local traditions. Charles the Bald yielded to him “a county on the Sequanic shore.”

At that time the coast of Gaul was divided into three sea-borders, namely, the Flemish, the Aquitanian, and the Sequanic, called “Sequanicum littus” by Paul Warnefrid, who places one of these islands near it.

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That his castle stood at one time on the site of the present church, is confirmed by the discoveries which have frequently been made in digging graves, of considerable masses of solid masonry, which appear to be the foundations of former outworks of the fortress. It is even possible that some portions of the walls of the church may be the remains of the earlier building. There are also in the neighbourhood “Le Fief Geffroi” and “Le Camp Geffroi.”[55]

Quite close to where “Le Tombeau du Grand Sarrazin” was situated, close to the Pointe au Norman, in the environs of Paradis,[56] in the Vale parish, and bordering on the Hougues d’Enfer, is the Pouquelêh de Déhus. This spot, as well as some fields in the Castel parish called “Les Déhusets” or “Les Tuzets,” are supposed to be favourite resorts of the fairies.

M. de Villemarque, in his Barzas-Breiz, the work so well known to folk-lorists, tells us that the Bretons gave the imps or goblins, whom they call pigmies, amongst others the name of “Duz,” diminutive “Duzik,” a name they bore in the time of St. Augustine; and he also says that they, like fairies,[121] inhabit Dolmens. Mr. Métivier explains the name “Déhus” or “Dhuss” as the “God of the Dead, and of Riches,” the Dis of the Gauls in the time of Cæsar, Théos in Greek, Deus in Latin—le Dus, or le Duc. He says “Our Dehussets are nothing but Dhus i gou, spirits of the dead and goblins of the deep.”

The exterior circle measures sixty feet in diameter, by forty in length, and the direction is from east to west. The enormous block of granite which serves as a roof to the western chamber is the most striking part of it. At the extremity of this chamber is a cell, the outer compartment eleven feet in length by nine in width. The adjoining one is of the same length. On the northern side a singular appendix in the form of a side chamber joins the two smaller rooms just described. There has also been discovered a fifth cell, the roof of which was formed of granite resting on three or four pillars, at the corner of the northern chamber. But the most interesting discovery of all was that of two kneeling skeletons, side by side, but placed in opposite positions, that is to say, one looking towards the north, the other towards the south. Besides these, bones of persons of both sexes and all ages, a stone hatchet, some pottery and limpet shells, were also found inside this place of sepulchre. It was long supposed to be haunted by fairies, imps, and ghosts, perhaps the same spirits who, in the haunted field of “Les Tuzés,” are reported to have removed the foundations of the intended Parish Church of the Castel to its present site. There is also a “Le Déhuzel” in the neighbourhood of the Celtic remains near L’Erée.

This Cromlech is on a rocky promontory, south-west[122] of Perelle Bay, in the beautiful parish of St. Saviour’s. The derivation of its name, “Castiau-Roc”—as it is properly—is from the “Castelh Carreg” “Castle Rock” of the Gauls. As one approaches it one is struck by the vestiges of Cromlechs with their circles, and bits of “Longues Roques.” In olden days, before so much of the surroundings were quarried away, this must have been only one among many other conspicuous objects down there. The names “La Roque Fendue,” “La Roque au Tonnerre,” “Plateau ès Roques,” “La Pièche des Grandes Roques du Castiau-Roc,” which are mentioned in various “Livres de Perquages,” are all that remain of these ancient remains. Much to be regretted is the disappearance of the “Portes du Castiau-Roc,” which might perhaps have helped us to define with some exactitude where this problematic castle once stood, and perhaps identify it with the fortified mounts of the Celts and Irish. It is noted in our island annals for being the midnight haunt of our witches and wizards. In the trials for witchcraft held under Amias de Carteret in the beginning of the seventeenth century, it was there that his trembling victims confessed to having come and danced on Friday nights, in honour of the gigantic cat or goat with black fur, called “Baal-Bérith” or “Barberi,” nowadays “Lucifer.” Near this rock was the “Chapel of the Holy Virgin” on Lihou Island, now in ruins, and it is said that the witches even defied the influence of “the Star of the Sea,” shouting in chorus while they danced,

This monument is like the[123] “Tables en Trépied,” and analogous to the “Lhêch y Drybedh” of the county of Pembroke, in Wales. There were altars in this form and of this description in almost every canton of the island. One, near the Chapel of St. George, is quite destroyed, and there are now no traces left of another between the Haye-du-Puits, and the Villocq. In the environs of the Castiau-Roc bones and arms have been found.[57]

This Cromlech is situated on the Houmet Nicolle at the point of L’Erée, (so called from the branch of the sea, Eiré, which separates it from the islet of Notre Dame de Lihou). This island, which once had upon it a chapel and a priory dedicated to “Notre Dame de la Roche,” was always considered so sacred a spot that even to-day the fishermen salute it in passing.

This Creux is a Dolmen of the nature of those which are called in France “allées couvertes,” perfectly well preserved, and partly covered with earth. The researches which have been made in these ancient monuments of antiquity prove them to have been places of sepulchre. This one consists of a chamber seven feet high, and covered with a roof of two blocks of granite, each fifteen feet long and ten broad. The entrance faces east, and is only two feet eight inches wide, but soon enlarges, and the interior is almost uniformly eleven feet wide.

This is, as its name would lead one to suppose, a favourite haunt of the fairies, or perhaps, to speak more correctly, their usual dwelling place.

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It is related that a man who happened to be lying on the grass near it, heard a voice within calling out: “La païlle, la païlle, le fouar est caûd.” (The shovel,[58] the oven is hot). To which the answer was immediately returned: “Bon! J’airon de la gâche bientôt.” (Good! We shall have some cake presently.)

Another version from Mrs. Savidan is that some men were ploughing in a field belonging to Mr. Le Cheminant, just below the Cromlech, when the voice was heard saying “La paille,” etc. One of them answered, “Bon! J’airon de la gâche,” and almost immediately afterwards a cake, quite hot, fell into one of the furrows. One of the men immediately ran forward and seized it, exclaiming that he would have a piece to take home to his wife, but on stooping to take it up he received such a buffet on the head as stretched him at full length on the ground. It is from here that the fairies issue on the night of the full moon to dance on Mont Saint till daybreak.[59]

In a field in the parish of St. Pierre-du-Bois, on the way to L’Erée and in the neighbourhood of the secluded valley of St. Brioc and the woody nook in which the ancient chapel dedicated to that Saint once stood, stands one of those Celtic monuments, many of which are still to be seen in Brittany and Cornwall,[125] and which are known in those countries by the name of “Menhir.” This word in the Breton tongue, and in its cognate dialect the ancient language of Cornwall, signifies “long stone.” The name which similar monuments bear in Normandy and Brittany in this island is “longue pierre” or “longue roque,” a literal translation of the Celtic name. There must have been at one time many “longues roques” in Guernsey. Another still stands in a field near the road at Richmond. There was in 1581 “la pièche de la longue pierre, la pierre séante dedans,”—a part of the Fief ès Cherfs, at the Castel. There was also “la Roque Séante dans le courtil de la Hougue au Comte,” and the “Roque-à-Bœuf dans le Courtil au Sucq du chemin de l’église,” near St. George, but these latter have long since disappeared, though a house near the field still bears the name.

Antiquaries are very much divided in opinion as to the original destination of these singular masses of rock; it is not wonderful that they should prove a puzzle and a source of wonder to the unlettered peasantry. How were such immense blocks placed upright, and for what purpose? The agency of supernatural beings is an easy answer to the question, and some such cause is usually assigned for their origin by the tradition of the country. Sometimes they are the work of fairies, sometimes of giants and magicians, and sometimes they are said to be mortals changed into stone by an offended deity for some sacrilegious act, or heroes petrified as a lasting testimony of their exploits.

The Menhir at St. Peter’s-in-the-Wood stands in a field at Les Paysans, so called from the name of the extinct family who once possessed it. It is over ten[126] feet in height, and about three feet wide, and the people’s name for it, “Palette ès faïes”—the fairies’ battledore,—describes it exactly. Tradition says that in former days a man who was returning homewards at a very late hour of the night, or who had risen before the lark to visit his nets in Rocquaine Bay, was astonished at meeting a woman of very diminutive stature coming up the hill from the sea-shore. She was knitting, while carrying in her apron something with as much care and tenderness as if it had been a clutch of eggs, or a newly-born babe. The man’s curiosity was excited, and he determined to watch the little woman. He therefore concealed himself behind a hedge and followed her movements. At last the woman stopped, and great was the astonishment of the countryman when he saw her produce a mass of stone of at least fifteen feet in length, and stick it upright in the midst of the field, with as much ease as if she were merely sticking a pin into a pincushion. He then comprehended that the unknown female could be no other than a denizen of fairy-land, but what could be her object in erecting such a monument? The people are at a loss in finding an answer to this question. Some say the stone was placed there by the fairies to serve them as a mark when they played at ball.[60]

There is another story told to account for “La Palette ès Faïes.” It is well known that Rocquaine[127] and its environs was the abode par excellence of the fairy folk, and in the valley of St. Brioc two of these fairies once lived. Whether they were father and son, or what other relationship existed between them, is not known, but among the human inhabitants of the valley they went by the names of Le Grand Colin and Le Petit Colin. They were fond of sports, and occasionally amused themselves with a game of ball on the open and tolerably level fields of Les Paysans. On one occasion they had placed their boundary marks, and had played some rounds, when Le Grand Colin struck the ball with such force that it bounded off quite out of sight. Le Petit Colin, whose turn it was to play, called out to his companion, with some degree of ill-humour, that the ball had disappeared beyond the bounds, on which Le Grand Colin struck his bat with force into the ground, and said he would play no more. The bat still remains in the centre of the field, and the ball—an enormous spherical boulder—is pointed out on the sea-shore near Les Pezeries, fully a mile and a half off.[61]

A little beyond the village called “Le Bourg de la Forêt” there stood formerly an upright stone, which was known by the name of “La Roque des Faïes,”—the fairies’ stone. It was unfortunately destroyed when the road was improved. The people in the neighbourhood were rather shy of passing it at night, as it was believed that the place was haunted, and that fairies held their nightly revels there. Like other stones of a similar nature it was said to have been[128] placed there by the elves to serve as a goal or mark in their games of ball or bowls; and, according to some accounts, the “Longue Roque” at “Les Paysans” in the adjoining parish of St. Pierre-du-Bois was the other boundary. It is not at all unlikely that these stones may really have served for such a purpose in days of yore, if not for the fairy-folk, at least for mortals. What is more probable than that the peasantry of the islands should have had the same games as existed until lately in Cornwall under the name of “hurling,” and in Brittany under the name of “La Soule,” as well as elsewhere, in which the young men of the neighbouring districts met at certain seasons on the confines of their respective parishes, and contended which should first bear a ball to a spot previously fixed on as the goal in each?

It is said that the spot where the stone in question stood was originally fixed on as the site of the Parish Church of the Forest; but that, after all the materials had been got together for the purpose of laying the foundations of the sacred edifice they were removed in the short space of one night by the fairies to the place where the church now stands, the little people thus resenting the intrusion on their domain.[62]

A Celtic monument of the kind commonly known to antiquaries by the name of “trilethon” is said to have existed formerly on the Common at L’Ancresse, near La Hougue Patris. It is described by old people who remember to have seen it in their youth as[129] consisting of three upright stones or props, supporting a fourth, overhanging the others. It was known by the name of “Le Gibet des Fâïes.” Near it was a fountain called “La Fontaine des Fâïes,” the water of which, although not plentiful, was never known to fail entirely, even in the very driest seasons; it is said to have been below the surface in a kind of artificial cave formed by huge blocks of stone, and entered by two openings on different sides. The proprietor of the land many years ago broke up the stones for building purposes and converted the fountain into a well.[63]

In the course of some works recently (1878) undertaken for reseating the Parish Church of Ste. Marie-du-Castel, two discoveries were made, which are of great interest. One is a sort of oven or furnace,[130] which was found below the surface of the floor of the church, and immediately under the apex of the westernmost arch, between the nave and the south aisle. It lies north and south, extending into the nave; but what appears to have been the mouth does not reach southward beyond the arch, no part of it being in the south aisle. If this aisle is really a more recent addition to the original building, the mouth of the furnace may have been at one time in an outer wall. The whole length is eight feet, the width two feet three inches, and the depth three feet six inches. The sides are roughly masoned and the northern end slightly rounded. A length of about three feet at the south end is arched over with stones, which have evidently been subjected to great heat. This part is immediately under the arch between the nave and the south aisle. The remaining five feet of the excavation retain no traces whatever of an arch, and are situated entirely in the nave. The floor of the excavation is of hard compact gravel, covered with ashes, among which were several pieces of charcoal and a few small fragments of brass, perhaps bell-metal. The northern end seems to have been used as a sort of ossuary, into which the bones dug up in making fresh interments in the church were thrown pell-mell, the remains of no less than nine skulls, mingled with other osseous remains, having been found here. These bore no marks of fire, from which we may conclude that the place had ceased to be used as an oven or furnace when they were deposited there. I had forgotten to mention that at the south end of the excavation was found a tile of about one and a-half inches in thickness, twelve inches in length, and nine inches in width, with a notch in it for the[131] fingers, such as we see in the sliding lid of a box. A few fragments of moulded tiles were found mingled with the earth, which the architect believed to be Roman. With the exception of a few coins, no other Roman remains have ever been found in Guernsey. The nave of the church and the westernmost bay of the aisle had, in olden days, been walled off from the rest of the building, and served as a sort of vestibule and place where the cannons and other military stores belonging to the Militia or trained bands of the parish were kept. Perhaps the furnace may have been used for casting balls, of which one at least has been found in the building. Some think it may have been used for the casting of a bell, but the bells at present in the tower throw no light on the subject, having been re-cast in England about the beginning of the nineteenth century. There is no appearance of any chimney or flue leading from the furnace ever having existed, and the reason of its position within the church, and the use to which it was put, must, we fear, ever remain an enigma.

After this long digression we will go on to the other discovery made at the same time; which presents another puzzle equally unsolved.

Just within the chancel, at about an equal distance from the north and south walls, about a foot below the surface, was found a mass of granite, lying east and west, and turned over on its left side. It has all the appearance of a natural boulder somewhat fashioned by art, and cannot be described better than by saying that it is in shape like a mummy case, the back being rounded and slightly curved and the front nearly flat, with the exception of the upper portion of the figure, which indicates that it was[132] intended to represent a female. The total length is six feet six inches, the width across the shoulders two feet three inches, and the portion corresponding with the head one foot three inches from the top of the forehead to the shoulders. It tapers slightly towards the foot. On each side of the head, extending from the forehead to the breast, are two ridges raised above the surface of the stone, which may have been intended to represent either a veil or tresses of hair. There are no traces of any features remaining, but what should be the face bears evident marks of having been subjected to the action of a hammer or chisel, as also does the right breast.

The stone is altogether too rude and mis-shapen to warrant the supposition that it can have been intended to cover a grave, although its place in the chancel, and its lying with its head to the west, may appear to favour this idea; but what renders the discovery of this stone more interesting and gives rise to conjecture, is the fact that in the churchyard of St. Martin-de-la-Beilleuse another stone of about the same size, precisely similar in outline, but in a far better state of preservation, exists in the form of a gatepost. In this last the features, very coarsely sculptured, and only slightly raised on a flat surface, are distinctly visible; a row of small knobs, intended either for curls or a chaplet encircles the forehead, and a sort of drapery in regular folds radiates from the chin to the shoulders and breasts, which are uncovered, leaving no doubt that in this case, as in the stone found in the Church of Ste. Marie-du-Castel, a female figure was intended to be represented. A confused idea exists among the parishioners of St. Martin’s that the stone in their churchyard was once[133] an idol; and it is not many years ago that a puritanical churchwarden was with difficulty dissuaded from having it broken up, lest it should once more become an object of adoration. In fact the stone was broken in half by his orders, and had to be cemented together again.

The Church of St. Martin’s is called St. Martin-de-la-Bellouse or Beilleuse, a name which an adjoining property bears to this day. The meaning of this word “Bellouse” or “Beilleuse” is unknown; but if, as some have asserted, the early inhabitants of the British Isles worshipped a deity of the name of Bel, it is not impossible that there may have been some female divinity, with a name derived from the same source.

It is certainly somewhat remarkable that two stones, so very similar in character, should exist in connection with two churches in the same island, and that one of them should have been found in so singular a position. One is tempted to believe that both churches may have been built on spots which had previously been set apart as places of heathen worship, and that in the case of Ste. Marie-du-Castel the idol had been defaced and buried in the earth to put a stop to the adoration paid to it.

It is well known that up to the end of the seventeenth century the inhabitants of a district in the Department du Morbihan, in Brittany, adored with superstitious and obscene rites a rude stone image commonly known as “La Vénus de Quinipilly,” and which was certainly not a Christian image. May not the stones here described have served also as objects of worship? The substitution of the Blessed Virgin for a female divinity is what one may[134] reasonably suppose to have taken place, and the continuance of superstitious practices in connection with the idol may have led to its defacement and concealment below the floor of the sacred edifice.[64]

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There are many spots in Guernsey connected with stories and legends besides the Druidical remains. The caverns of the Creux des Fées and Creux Mahié; the various curiously shaped rocks, formed by the hand of Nature, or by the wearing action of the waves; the marks of footprints, whether human or diabolical, on various stones; and above all the sacred fountains, which are still regarded as medicinal, have given rise to many a tradition, which, though they lose much of their charm from being translated from the quaint Guernsey French in which they are originally related, we will here endeavour to render.

Between the bays of Vazon and Cobo is found the peninsula of Houmet, and here is situated the[138] “Creux des Fées.” It is a small cavern, worn away by the action of the sea. The granite surrounding its mouth abounds in particles of mica, which glitter in the sun like streaks of gold. It can only be approached at low tide, and necessitates much scrambling over the rocks which are heaped round the mouth of the grotto. It is said that by a hole not larger than the mouth of an oven, you gain access to a spacious hall, hollowed out of the rock, that in the middle of this hall is a stone table on which are dishes, plates, drinking cups, and everything necessary for a large feast, all in stone, and all used by the fairies, but no one has had the courage to penetrate inside and test the truth of this assertion. It is also believed that beyond it there is a subterranean passage which leads to the bottom of St. Saviour’s Church, which is distant more than two miles. This tradition of a subterranean passage leading to a church at a considerable distance is told of other caverns in Guernsey. Of the Creux Mahié, where there is also said to be a passage leading to St. Saviour’s Church, of a large cave in Moulin Huet Bay, which is supposed to lead to a passage going straight to St. Martin’s Church, and one at Saints’ Bay, also supposed to lead to St. Saviour’s Church.

Editor’s Note.—“Le groupe le plus important de demeures de fées que j’aie rencontré est celui des Houles (l’anglais hole, caverne, grotte).” … “Elles se prolongent sous terre si loin, que personne, dit-on, n’est allé jusqu’au fond … parfois on les appelle Chambres des fées. Il y en a où l’on voit, dit-on, des tables de pierre sur lesquelles elles mangeaient, leurs sièges, et les berceaux en pierre de leurs enfants.”—Traditions et Superstitions de la Haute Bretagne, p. 84.

The whole of the southern coast of Guernsey, from Jerbourg, or St. Martin’s Point, to Pleinmont in the parish of Torteval, is extremely precipitous, but abounding in picturesque beauties of no common[139] character. Bold headlands, with outlying granite rocks rising like pyramids and obelisks from the clear blue sea, alternating with caves and bays to which access is gained through deep glens and ravines, some richly wooded, some hemmed in on both sides by rugged hills, but through all of which a tiny rill of the purest water trickles, keeping up a perpetual verdure—slopes covered in early spring with the golden blossoms of the gorse, in summer with the purple bells of the heather, and in autumn with the rich brown fronds of the withering bracken—cliffs mantled in parts with luxuriant ivy, in other with many coloured lichens, and out of every crevice of which the thrift, the campion, and other flowers that delight in the vicinity of the sea, burst in wild profusion—all combine to form pictures which the artist and the lover of nature are never tired of studying.

The constant action of the waves for unnumbered centuries has worn out many caverns in these cliffs, the most considerable of which is that known by the name of “Le Creux Mahié,” or as some old writers wrote it “Mahio,” and it undoubtedly took its name, so says Mr. Métivier, from its ancient proprietor, the king of the infernal regions.

The Hindoos have the same name in their Maha-Dêva, a giant of the family of the dives or demons.[65] In the province of Mayo, there is a Sorcerer or Druid, the Priest of Mayo, who lives in a cavern, and is called[140] “the King of the Waters.”

It is also sometimes called “Le Creux Robilliard,” from a family of that name on whose property it was situated. It lies in the parish of Torteval, and is reached by a narrow pathway, winding down the almost precipitous side of a steep cliff, into a small creek worn out by the sea between the headlands. The cave itself, there can be no doubt, must have been formed by the waves wearing away gradually a vein of decomposed rock, softer than that which forms the sides and roof. At some remote period a large portion of the rock which forms the roof of the cavern has given way, and has partially blocked up the entrance, leaving only a long low fissure through which access can be had to the interior, and forming a sort of platform of solid stone, which effectually cuts off any further encroachment on the part of the sea. A steep descent over broken fragments of rock leads down to the floor of the cave, which appears to be nearly on a level with the beach at the foot of the platform. A glimmering light from the entrance enables one to see that the rock arches overhead in a sort of dome, and a bundle of dry furze or other brushwood, set on fire, lights it up sufficiently to bring out all the details. It is a weird sight; as the flickering flames illumine one by one the various masses of rock that are piled up to the roof at the extremity of the cavern, and disclose the entrances to two or three smaller caves. These are, in reality, of no great depth, but they are sufficiently mysterious to have given rise to more than one report concerning them, and there are but few of the peasantry who would be bold enough to attempt to explore their recesses. It is firmly believed by them that there is a passage extending all the way under[141] ground as far as the Church of St. Saviour’s, about a mile distant as the crow flies; and it is also affirmed that there is an entrance through a small hole to an extensive apartment, in the midst of which stands a stone table, on which are set out dishes, plates, drinking vessels, and other requisites for a well-served feast, all of the same solid material.[66]

There are obscure traditions of the cavern having been at some early period the resort of men who lived by stealing their neighbours’ sheep, and plundering their hen-roosts, but these traditions cannot be traced to anything more definite than what is commonly alleged of all such places, neither are the tales told of its having been the resort of smugglers more to be relied on. The difficulty of access to it, either by sea or land, makes it very improbable that it should have been used for this purpose; besides, in former days, Guernsey was a perfectly free port, nothing that entered was subject to any duty that it would have been profitable to evade, and before the establishment of a branch of the English Custom House, all exports could be made without the troublesome formalities of clearance and declaration now required. Of late years the smuggling of spirits into the island in order to avoid payment of the local dues in aid of the public revenue, has been carried on to rather a large extent; but this has taken place on more accessible parts of the coast. Possibly, however, tobacco made up in illegal packages, which would subject it to seizure if found waterborne, may occasionally have been deposited here for a time, until it could be carried off[142] secretly to the French vessels passing the island in their coasting voyages between Normandy and Brittany.

In a letter dated May, 1665, to one of his friends in Guernsey, from the Rev. John de Sausmarez, who, on the restoration of Charles II., was appointed Dean of the Island, and subsequently Canon of Windsor, he alludes to “Le prophète du Creux Robilliard.” Who this prophet was does not appear, but there is every reason to believe that the allusion is to the Rev. Thomas Picot, Minister of the then united parishes of the Forest and Torteval, in the latter of which the Creux Mahié—alias Robilliard, is situated; for in the Assembly of Divines held at Westminster in 1644, articles were exhibited against this clergyman for troubling the Church discipline established in the island, preaching Anabaptist doctrines, and prophesying that in 1655 there should be a perfect reformation, men should do miracles, etc. This conjecture receives some slight confirmation from the fact that it is still remembered in the Forest parish that a Minister of the name of Picot was fond of retiring to caves on the sea-shore for meditation, and one of these caves in particular, that well known one in Petit Bot bay with a double entrance, is still known by the name of “Le Parloir de Monsieur Picot.”

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One of the earliest forms of idolatry is undoubtedly that which was paid to rude stone pillars. These, whether erected for the purpose of marking the last resting place of some renowned patriarch or warrior, or set up with the design of indicating a spot specially appropriated to religious rites, or perhaps, simply as a boundary or landmark, came to be regarded, at first, as sacred, and in process of time, as a symbol of the Deity himself. Gradually any elevated rock, and especially if it presented a striking and unusual appearance, was looked upon with veneration. We find that this was particularly the case in the north of Europe, and that the hardy mariners who navigate the tempestuous seas of Scandinavia, are, even now, in the habit of paying a sort of superstitious respect to the lofty “stacks,” as the isolated masses of rock are called, which form the extremity of many of the headlands, and that, in passing, they salute them, and throw old clothes, or a little food, or a drop of spirits, into the sea, as a sort of propitiatory offering. It is strange to find that the same custom still exists in Guernsey, notwithstanding that a thousand years or more have elapsed since the Northmen first invaded these shores.

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Everyone who has visited Guernsey must know the lovely bay of Moulin Huet,[67] and the remarkable group of rocks, which stretches out into the sea at its eastern extremity beyond the point of Jerbourg. These rocks are called “Les Tas de Pois d’Amont,” or “The Pea-Stacks of the East.” There being a chain of rocks off Pleinmont which are called the “Tas de Pois d’Aval”—the westerly Pea-Stacks—“Amont” (meaning “en haut”) is the Guernsey word for east, aval meaning “en bas,” their word for west.[68]

Each rock composing the Tas de Pois d’Amont has its own special name. They are “Le Petit Aiguillon,” “Le Gros Aiguillon,” “L’Aiguillon d’Andrelot,” ou “du Petit Bon-Homme.”

The united and increasing action of the winds and waves has worn the hard granite rock into the most fantastic forms, and from certain points of view it is not difficult to invest some of these masses of stone with a fancied resemblance to the human form. One of them in particular, when seen at a certain distance, has all the appearance of an aged man enveloped in the gown and cowl of a monk.

So singular a freak of nature has not escaped the attention of the peasantry, and the rock in question is pointed out by the name of “Le Petit Bon-Homme Andriou.” The children in the neighbourhood have a rhymed saying:

which may be translated

[146]

and the fishermen and pilots who frequent these parts of the coast show their respect by taking off their hats when passing the point, and are careful to insist on the observance being complied with by any stranger who may chance to be in their company. Formerly it was not unusual with them, before setting sail, to offer a biscuit or a libation of wine or cider to “Le Bon Homme,” and, if an old garment past use chanced to be in the boat, this was also cast into the sea.[69]

There are other rocks on the coast which the fishermen are in the habit of saluting without being able to give any reason why they do so; and it is not impossible that the honour paid to the little island of Lihou,[70] on the western coast of Guernsey, by the small craft, in lowering their topmasts while passing, may have originated in the same superstition,[147] although it is generally supposed that they do it out of reverence to the Blessed Virgin, the ruins of whose Chapel and Priory are still to be seen on the isle. The circumnavigation of a certain rock by the fishermen of the parish of St. John, in Jersey, on Midsummer Day, may, perhaps, be traceable to the same source.

La Roque Màngi was a natural granite formation having a very artificial aspect. It stood on one of those sandy downs which extend along the north-west coast between “Le Grand Havre” and “Les Grand’ Rocques,” and consisted of a slender upright mass of rock of from eight to ten feet in height, surmounted by a large stone, projecting about half a foot on every side, resting on the narrowest part of[148] the supporting stone, and looking at a little distance like a petrified giant. It was destroyed by the proprietor of the land about the middle of the present century in the hopes of finding below it a profitable quarry of granite, in which, however, he was disappointed.

Of this rock a curious legend was related by the neighbouring peasants. It was said that the Devil, having quarrelled one day with his wife, tied her by the hair of her head to the upright stone, and that, in her frantic efforts to disengage herself by running round and round, she wore away the solid granite to the narrow neck which supported the superincumbent head.[71]

The origin of the name seems doubtful, some tracing it to a family of the name of Maingy, who possessed land in the parish in which the rock was situated. Others, with more probability, attributing it to the “eaten”—“mangé”—(in the local dialect “màngi”) appearance of the stones, where the upper one or head joined the supporting upright.

This was also called “La Chaire au Prêtre,” and was situated in the district of the Hamelins, a little to the north of the property known as St. Clair. It was a very regularly formed natural obelisk of about eight to ten feet in height, rising from the summit of one of those hillocks, or “hougues” as they are locally called, which, before the great granite industry took its rise, abounded in St. Sampson’s and the Vale parishes, and along the whole western coast. At[149] the foot of the upright rock was a large flat stone, giving the whole mass the appearance of a gigantic chair or pulpit. Seven stone hatchets have been unearthed in its vicinity. It was evidently used by the Druids as one of their sacred chairs, in which their Pontiffs sat to instruct the people. It is probable that towards the end of the seventh century, St. Bonit, Bishop of Auvergne, who was known to have been a great traveller, visited the land previously converted by St. Samson, St. Magloire, St. Paterne, and St. Marcouf, and sat and preached to the people in this erst-while Druid’s throne, which henceforth bore his name.

This very singular name is given to a picturesque mass of rock which forms the termination of a hill in the parish of Ste. Marie du Castel, and abuts on the road leading from the village of Les Grands Moulins—better known as The King’s Mills—to Le Mont Saint. Mr. Métivier gives as his explanation of this name that all this region—from the Mont-au-Nouvel (now called Delancey Hill) to the Castiau Roc—was the centre of the Druids and their observances. “The Eagle,” “The Cock,” “The Partridge,” “The Curlew,” were the names of various degrees in Theology[72] among the Druids and among the western sun worshippers. This “Coq” was the Prophet, the “Magician,” of the Canton. The Arch-Magician of the King of Babylon was Nergal or “Le Coq.” It is said to be a very favourite haunt of the fairies and witches, and it is commonly reported that an immense treasure lies concealed within it. In olden[150] days it was the fashion to walk round it, stamping at the same time, the soil resounded under their feet, they heard, or thought they heard, the monotonous sound of a bell, tolling a far-away knell, and hence the belief of a subterranean fairy cavern and hoards of concealed treasure.[73]

Old people say that there was formerly a very large stone in St. Andrew’s parish on which was engraven an inscription in ancient characters. Some men who passed it every day in going to their work at last succeeded in deciphering it, and read as follows:—

This inscription roused their curiosity, and they determined on making a strong effort to raise the stone, fully persuaded that it concealed an enormous treasure. They procured crowbars and levers, and, at last, with much labour and great loss of time, succeeded in lifting it, but who can describe their disappointment when they found nought but the following words, legibly engraved on the other side:—

[151]

A little inland, about halfway between the points of land which are the northern and southern extremities of the picturesque bay of Rocquaine, there is a rocky hillock known generally by the name of “Le Câtillon,” probably from some small castle or fortification which may have existed there in former days. Old people say that the true name of the hill is “La Hougue ès Brinches,” from the broom which once grew there in large quantities. At the foot of this hillock, on the northern side, there is a flat stone imbedded in the earth, and on it are the marks of two feet, pointing in opposite directions, as if two persons coming, one from the north, and the other from the south, had met on this spot and left the impress of their footprints on the stone. Of course a story is not wanting to account for these marks. It is said that the Lady of Lihou and the Lady of St. Brioc (or some say the Abbess of La Haye du Puits) had a dispute as to the limits of their territorial possessions, and that, in order to settle the question, they agreed to leave their respective abodes at a certain hour before breakfast, and walk straight forward until they met. The spot where the meeting took place was to be henceforth considered as the boundary, and to avoid any further disputes a lasting memorial was to be placed on the spot.

If the country people are asked who these “Ladies” were, they can give no further information about them, but they evidently consider them to have belonged to the fairy-folk, who have left behind them so many traces of their former occupation of the island. Antiquaries are disposed to look upon the stone as having been placed there to mark the boundary line[152] between the Priories of Notre Dame de Lihou and St. Brioc.

Another story of this rock is that at Pleinmont lived a hermit who was much respected by all the island, and many people came to visit him in his cell, which he never left, except to administer the Holy Sacrament to the dying. He used to be seen kneeling for hours at the foot of a cross upon the cliff; but one night a fisherman, anchored in Rocquaine Bay, saw by the moon’s light this hermit cross the sands and meet a tiny shrouded figure which came from the direction of Lihou. They met on this rock, and stood talking there for some time, and then each returned the way he came, and in the morning, when the fisherman came to examine the place, he found the print of two feet. He could not make himself believed when he told the story, until it was discovered that the hermit had disappeared, never to be seen again.[75]

In the year 1829 a large quantity of coins, amounting, it is said, to nearly seven hundred in number, were dug up at no very great distance from this stone. The greater part were silver pennies, but there were a few copper pieces among them; they were of the reigns of Edward II. of England, and Philip IV. of France. The discovery of this treasure induced some men who lived in the neighbourhood to seek for more, and, under the firm persuasion that the most likely spot to find it was under the stone itself, they resolved on braving the danger which is supposed to be incurred by removing stones which have been placed by the fairies, and devoted a whole morning to clearing away the ground around it with a view to[153] lifting it. They had, with great labour, succeeded in loosening the stone just as the sun in its zenith marked the hour of noon, an hour when all good workmen cease from their toil to eat their frugal mid-day repast, and to enjoy their siesta under the shelter of a hedge. They felt sure of success, and probably dreamt of the uses to which they would put their treasure, but, alas, for their hopes. When they returned to their work at one o’clock, they found the stone as firmly fixed as ever, and resisting their utmost efforts to remove it. They were more convinced than ever that immense riches lie buried in this spot, but that it is useless to seek for them, and none since that time have been bold enough to renew the attempt.[76]

In the Vale parish there is a large tract of uncultivated land commonly known by the name of L’Ancresse Common. It is said to owe its name of L’Ancresse—the anchoring place—to the circumstance of the neighbouring bay having afforded a refuge to Robert the First, Duke of Normandy, and his fleet, when in danger of perishing in a violent tempest. Our learned antiquary, Mr. George Métivier, is rather disposed to derive the name from the Celtic “Lancreis,” “the place of the circle,” so many Druidical remains being still to be found on the common as to render it highly probable that one of those circular enclosures, formed of upright stones, in which the Druids are supposed to have held their sacred assemblies, formerly existed here. Along the sea-coast are many eminences, known locally by the name[154] of “hougues.” Their height is not great, but they form picturesque objects in the landscape. Here and there large masses of grey granite covered with lichens rise in irregular forms above the green sward, gay in spring with the bright flowers of the furze and bluebell, and redolent with the sweet perfume of the wild thyme and chamomile. In some of these rocks may be traced those curious excavations known by the name of rock basins, which antiquaries have considered as artificial, but which geologists are ready to prove to be the work of nature.

Of late years many of these hougues have been quarried for the sake of the stone, which is preferred in London to all others for paving purposes, and if the demand should continue many of these hills will be entirely levelled, and with them will disappear some of the most characteristic features in the scenery of that part of the island. While writing (1853), La Hougue Patris is advertised for sale, and stress is laid in the advertisement on the excellent quality of the stone which it contains. This hougue is situated on the north eastern extremity of L’Ancresse Bay, and is remarkable from the circumstance that a portion of the rock, where it appears above ground, bears marks precisely similar to those which would be left by the hoof of an ox on wet clay. So remarkable an appearance has of course attracted the attention of the neighbouring peasants, who call the rock which bears the impression “Le Pied du Bœuf.” Some old people relate that the Devil, after having been driven from the other parts of the island by a Saint whose name is now forgotten, made a last stand on this spot, but that, after a long and desperate conflict, his Satanic Majesty was at last constrained to take flight.[155] In leaping, he left the marks of his hoofs imprinted on the stone. He directed his flight towards Alderney, but on his way thither alighted on the Brayes rocks, where, it is said, similar marks of cloven feet are to be seen. Whether he got beyond Alderney, or settled down quietly in that island, is a point on which the narrators of the tradition are by no means agreed.

Did we not know that a family of the name of Patris was formerly numerous in the Vale parish,[77] and that there is every probability that the Hougue derived its name from some member of that family, to whom, in ancient days, it may have belonged; we might be tempted to suppose that the valiant Saint who forced the demon to fly was no other than the renowned St. Patrick himself, especially as, according to some accounts, the Saint was a native of a village in the neighbourhood of the town of St Maloes, within eight or ten hours of this island.

It is true that, with all the self-conceit of the nineteenth century, we are apt to suppose that before the establishment of packets and steamers, communication between the opposite coasts of the Channel was difficult and infrequent, but we have only to open the lives of the British and Irish Saints to see with what ease and rapidity these holy men effected the voyage, with no other conveyance than a stone trough, a bundle of sea-weed, or perchance a cloak spread out on the boisterous waves.

[156]

[157]

As the inhabitants of Guernsey may be presumed to be acquainted with the Chronicles of their own Duchy of Normandy, it is not improbable that the following legendary tale, related of Duke Richard, surnamed Sans-Peur, may be known to some of them.

The Chronique de Normandie, printed at Rouen in 1576, gives it in words of which the following is a close translation. (Fol. 4. Sur l’an 797). “Once upon a time, as Duke Richard was riding from one of his Castles to a Manor, where a very beautiful lady was residing, the Devil attacked him, and Richard fought with and vanquished him. After this adventure the Devil disguised himself as a beautiful maiden, richly adorned,[78] and appeared to him in a boat at Granville, where Richard then was. Richard entered into the boat to converse with and contemplate the beauty of this lady, and the Devil carried away the said Duke Richard to a rock in the sea in the island of Guernsey, where he was found.”

He is supposed to have anchored at La Petite Porte and leapt up the cliff and landed on the stone near Doyle’s Column at Jerbourg, where the print of his claw is still to be seen. As you go along the road from the town to Doyle’s Column you see a large white piece of quartz with a deep black splash right across it. It is on the right hand side of the road, just as it begins to rise towards Doyle’s Column, at the head of the second vallum, or dyke,[158] going down towards La Petite Porte. This stone was also the termination of the bounds at Jerbourg beaten by the Chevauchée de St. Michel.

In former days that tract of land lying between St. Sampson’s Harbour and the Vale Church, and known by the name of “Le Braye du Valle,” was an arm of the sea, which at high water separated that part of the Vale parish called “Le Clos du Valle” from the rest of the island. At the beginning of the present century, Sir John Doyle, then Lieut.-Governor of the island, seeing the inconvenience that might arise from the want of a ready communication with the mainland, in the event of an invading enemy effecting or attempting a landing in L’Ancresse Bay, caused the dyke near the Vale Church to be built. The land recovered from the sea became of course the property of the Crown, and was subsequently sold to private individuals, the purchase money being given up by Government to be employed towards defraying the expenses of constructing new roads throughout the island.

Where fishes once swam, and where the husbandman once gathered sea-weed for the manuring of his land, droves of cattle now graze, and fields of corn wave.[79] From the very earliest times, the want of an easy communication between the neighbouring parishes must have been felt, and attempts had been made to remedy the inconvenience by the erection of rude bridges. It would be strange, if the Devil, whose skill in the construction of bridges in every part of Europe has certainly entitled him to the honourable[159] appellation of Pontifex Maximus, had not had a hand in building one of the three principal passages across the Braye du Valle. Accordingly we find that the dyke at St. Sampson’s Harbour, known by the name of “Le Grand Pont,” is also called “Le Pont du Diable,” and old people affirm that it has been handed down as a tradition from their forefathers, that shortly after the building of the Vale Castle, the Devil threw up this embankment, in order to enable him to cross over to that fortress with ease and safety.

Perhaps the bridge may have been built by order of Robert the First, Duke of Normandy, father of William the Conqueror, sometimes called “Robert le Magnifique,” but quite as well known by the less honourable cognomen of “Robert le Diable,” and, if in the absence of documentary evidence, any reliance is to be placed in the tradition hitherto generally received that the Vale Castle, if not originally built, was at least considerably improved and strengthened by this Prince, it is certainly not going too far to suppose that the bridge may owe its name to him, and not to his Satanic Majesty.

One observance connected with this bridge is worth mentioning. From time immemorial persons from all parts of the island have been in the habit of assembling here on the afternoons of the Sundays in the month of August. No reason is assigned for this custom, but as Saint Sampson is looked upon as the first Apostle of Christianity in this island, and as the church which bears his name is said to have been the first Christian temple erected in the island, and is, in consequence, considered in some respects as the mother church, may not this assembly be the remains of a church-wake, observed in ancient times[160] on the Sunday following the feast of St. Sampson, that is to say, the 28th of July.

Similar meetings are common in Normandy and Brittany, where they are called “assemblies” and “pardons.”

The two other principal passages across the Braye du Valle were the bridges called “Le Pont Colliche” and “Le Pont St. Michel.” They consisted of rude slabs of stone resting on huge blocks of rock, and were dangerous, both from the sea-weed which attached itself to them, and rendered them exceedingly slippery, and also from the rapidity with which the tide, when rising, flowed in, for both of them were covered at high water. Many and sad were the accidents which had happened to incautious and belated passengers, and it is not wonderful that superstition believed these spots to be haunted by the ghosts of those who had perished in attempting the crossing. The “Pont St. Michel,” situated near the Vale Church, where the embankment now is, was held in especial dread. At night the “feu bellenger” or will-o’-the-wisp, was to be seen dancing on the sands, and gliding under the bridge, and even at mid-day, when the sun was shining brightly, unearthly cries of distress would be occasionally heard proceeding from that direction, though no living being could be discovered, by whom they could possibly be uttered.

An old woman, still alive, whose youth was spent in that neighbourhood, has assured me that she has repeatedly heard the cries.

“Le Pont Colliche” was situated about midway between the two others, a little to the eastward of the road which now traverses the Braye. According to tradition, there was once a time when the opening at[161] the “Bougue du Valle”—the channel between the Grand Havre and the Braye—was so small that a faggot, weighted with stone, would have sufficed to stop it.

At that time the passage between the islands of Herm and Guernsey was so narrow that a plank laid down at low water enabled the Rector of St. Sampson’s to cross over when his duty called him to perform divine service in the Chapel of St. Tugual. Great quantities of the common cockle (cardium edule), locally known by the name of “cocques du Braye,” used to be gathered on the sands at low water. It is said, however, that even before the enclosure of the Braye they had begun to disappear, and their increasing scarcity was attributed to the impiety of an old woman, who, unmindful of the sacred duty of keeping the sabbath holy, was in the habit of searching for these cockles on that day. A similar story is told to account for the rarity of a particular kind of periwinkle (trochus crassus) known here by the name of “Cocquelin Brehaut.”

A stone, which has evidently served as the socket or base of a cross, and which is said to have come from the Pont Colliche, is still preserved at Les Grandes Capelles.

The promontory of Pleinmont forms the south-western extremity of the island of Guernsey, and, to the admirer of the wild and rugged beauties of cliff and rock scenery, affords an ever-varying treat. Lofty precipices, in which the sea-birds and hawks nestle—huge[162] masses of granite piled into fantastic forms—covered with grey and orange-coloured lichens, and gay with the flowers of the thrift and other sea-side plants, large rocks detached from the main-land and tenanted by long rows of the sun-loving cormorant, the ever-restless ocean, now smiling and rippling under a summer sky, now lashed into fury by the wintry blast, all combine to add to the charms of this district.

Many accordingly are the parties which frequent this spot during the summer, and it is probable that some of those who have visited this place may remember a small promontory almost detached from the mainland, and forming the westernmost point of the island. To the southward of this promontory there is a sort of ravine, extending from the table-land of Pleinmont to the edge of the cliff, where a small breastwork of earth and stones has been erected. The reason why this spot, which is by no means the most dangerous along the coast, has been thus protected, is not very apparent. The existence of a small spring of water in the ravine, which keeps up a constant verdure and tempts the cattle turned out to pick up a scanty living on the common to the place, suggests a probable solution of the question; but the tradition of the peasantry assigns a far more romantic reason for the erection of the parapet than the mere safety of a few stray heifers.

They say that in days long past, the son of a farmer in the neighbourhood formed an attachment for the daughter of a family with whom his own was at variance. His affection was returned by the maiden, and the wishes of the lovers might, in the end, have triumphed over the opposition of the[163] parents, had not the hand of the girl been promised by her friends to one of the richest men in the parish. In vain did the unhappy maiden urge the cruelty of forcing her into a marriage which her heart abhorred. In vain did her lover employ every means in his power to break off the hated contract. Their prayers and representations were treated with scorn, and the preparations for the marriage were proceeded with. The eve of the day appointed for the solemn espousal—a ceremony which in ancient times preceded and was distinct from that of marriage—had arrived. The lovers met by stealth on the cliffs at Pleinmont, and, driven to despair, mounted together on a horse, which they urged into a gallop, and, directing him down the ravine, they fell over the precipice and perished in the waves below. To commemorate the event, and to prevent the recurrence of a similar catastrophe, the barrier was erected.[80]

[164]

[165]

Though not strictly speaking “Folk-Lore,” the ancient priories and chapels of Guernsey are so closely connected with the holy wells that it may be as well here to give some details concerning them. It appears that these chapels must have been of more than one kind. Some were endowed, and had a priest permanently attached to them with probably a certain cure of souls. Others were most likely wayside oratories, where divine service was only performed occasionally by the rector of the parish, or someone acting under him, on certain anniversaries. Some may have been connected with religious guilds or fraternities.

To begin with those churches and chapels known to have been endowed, and which were probably—at least after the suppression of alien priories—under the patronage of the Crown.

[166]

A Commission was appointed in the reign of Henry VIII. for the purpose of ascertaining the value of all livings within the kingdom, with a view to the duty called first-fruits, owing on the appointment of every ecclesiastic to a benefice, being henceforth paid to the Crown. From this document we learn that besides the ten parochial churches there were four other benefices—the vicarage of Lihou worth five pounds sterling, that of St. Brioc worth twelve shillings, the chaplaincy of St. George worth sixty shillings, and that of “Our Lady Mares,” no doubt Notre Dame des Marais, worth three pounds.

The first of these four, Lihou, was originally a priory dependent on the Priory of St. Michel-du-Valle, which was of itself a dependency of the great Abbey of Mont St. Michel in Normandy. The Prior of Lihou had probably pastoral care of the district comprised in the Fief Lihou, extending along the coast called Perelle,[81] from L’Erée to Rocquaine Castle, where the district of St. Brioc begins. It also comprised certain possessions in the Castel parish and elsewhere, and its feudal court was held near the western porch of the Castel Church, a little northward of the path leading to it, where are still to be seen three flat stones, which mark the spot.

St. Brioc was situated in the valley leading from Torteval Church to Rocquaine. There is reason to suppose that it had a certain district allotted to it, but its limits are not now known.

St. George was only a chaplaincy, intimately connected with the Fief Le Comte, the court of which[167] formerly assembled in the chapel, and still meets in its immediate vicinity. The earliest notice we have of this chapel is contained in the Bull of Pope Adrian IV., dated 1155. In the year following Dom Robert de Thorigny—or, as he is sometimes called, “Du Mont”—abbot of the famous monastery of Mont St. Michel, visited this island, and found one Guillaume Gavin established at St. George as chaplain: he was anxious to retire from the world, and, at his request, the abbot admitted him into his community as a monk, and appointed Godefroy Vivier to succeed him as chaplain at St. George. After some time Vivier followed the example of his predecessor, and took the frock at Mont Saint Michel, having previously made over certain lands which he possessed in the neighbourhood of St. George to the abbey which afforded him shelter.

In 1408 the chaplain was Dom Toulley, who obtained an order from the Royal Court prohibiting any one from trespassing on the road leading to the chapel, it being reserved exclusively for persons attending divine service, or sick people visiting the fountain, the small coin left as an offering at the well being doubtless a perquisite belonging to the chaplain.

This chapel was originally endowed with some lands or rents, probably with the territory still known as Le Fief de la Chapelle, which is one of the many dependencies of the Fief Le Comte.

After the Reformation St. George became in some way the property of the de Jersey family,[82] and by[168] the marriage of Marie de Jersey, an heiress, to Jacques Guille, which took place about the middle of the seventeenth century, it passed into the possession of the latter family, by whom it is still held. This Marie de Jersey made a gift of the chapel to the inhabitants of the Castel in about 1675 to serve as a school house. A more convenient building was erected in 1736 on the site of an old mill, and endowed with nine quarters of wheat rente by Marie de Sausmarez, widow of Mr. William Le Marchant, and the chapel ceased to be used as a school house. Bickerings as to rights of way across the estate, under the pretence that there was a thoroughfare leading to a public building, ensued, even after the removal of the school; so finally Mr. Guille ordered the chapel to be demolished, and only a few ruins are now left.

The Chapel of “Our Lady Mares”—Notre Dame des Marais—is thus mentioned in the Extente of Edward III., “Nostre Sire le Roy n’a rien des vacations des eglises et chapelles, fors la Chapelle de Nostre Dame des Maresqs qui vaut XXX lbts en laquelle iceluy Roy doit présenter en tems de la vacation, et l’Evesque de Coutance en a l’institution.” The chaplain then in possession, 1331, was Robert de Hadis.[83]

The other churches and chapels were not at this[169] time in the gift of the Crown, but belonged to alien monasteries, Marmoutiers, Mont St. Michel, and Blanchelande. The chapel itself was, there is very little doubt, situated within the precincts of Le Château des Marais, now better known as Ivy Castle, and the Livres de Perchage of the Town parish of the time of Elizabeth and James I. mention certain fields in the vicinity as belonging to it.

The Hospice and Chapel of St. Julien was situated at the bottom of the Truchot, in the district called Le Bosq, close to the sea-shore. There are many “St. Julians” in the calendar, one of them being considered the special patron of travellers. In the title of his Legende MS. Bodleian, 1596, fol. 4, he is called “St. Julian the Gode herberjoue.” It ends thus:—

Chaucer had the familiar attribute of St. Julian before him when he described his “Francklyn” or country gentleman:—

The rock on which travellers to the island used to land, now the foundation of the harbour, was “La Roche St. Julien,” and probably the hospital, being[170] situated near a landing place, was intended as a refuge for travellers, and therefore dedicated to him. This chapel was founded in the year 1361, the thirty-fifth of the reign of Edward III., at the time when Sir John Maltravers was Governor of the islands. The founder was a certain Petrus de St. Petro, or Pierre de St. Peye, as we find it written in French. Permission was granted him by the Crown to found the said hospital or alms house for a master, brethren and sisters, in a certain spot near Bowes (Le Bosq,—this word was evidently Boués, Bois, a wood, with which the word Bouët is also identical), in the parish of St. Peter Port, and to endow it with twenty vergées of land and eighty quarters of wheat rent, out of which certain dues were to be paid to the King. “La Petite École,” or parish school, which has from time immemorial been situated in this vicinity, was originally connected with St. Julian. It is generally believed that the school was founded in 1513 by Thomas Le Marchant and Jannette Thelry, his wife.

At the Reformation the chapel and hospital were suppressed, and its revenues and possessions seized by the Crown. The parishioners of St. Peter Port complained to the Royal Commissioners of 1607 of the alienation of this property, which they looked upon as belonging to the parish, but their complaint was not attended to. In the early part of the century there were the remains of an old house, in a late debased Gothic style of the fifteenth century, standing at the bottom of Bosq Lane, which used to be looked upon as the remains of a conventual building. The house in question was a residence of a branch of the de Beauvoir family, whose arms were carved in stone[171] over the principal entrance. The stones forming this entrance were preserved, and are now in the ruins of the Chapel of St. George.

With the exception of the Franciscan Friary, there is no proof of any conventual establishments in the island, though tradition points to La Haye-du-Puits as being the site of an old convent. Doubtless in early times, and before the English had lost Normandy, the great monasteries which held lands in Guernsey may have had priories here. Mont St. Michel we know had the Priory of St. Michel du Valle, and there is some reason to believe that Blanchelande also had some establishment of the kind in the island. How the Abbeys of Marmoutier, La Rue Frairie, Croix St. Lenfroy and Caen, all of which had possessions in the island, managed them, we have no means of knowing, though it was most likely by the machinery of a feudal court.

We will now speak of the Priories of St. Michel du Valle and Notre Dame de Lihou.

A tradition, which may be traced up to the time of Edward II., says that certain monks, driven from Mont St. Michel for their dissolute lives, settled in the Vale parish and founded an abbey about the year 968 A.D. The same authority informs us that they reformed their lives and became famous for their sanctity, and that when Robert, Duke of Normandy, visited the island in the year 1032, having been driven here by stress of weather while on his way to England with a fleet to the help of his nephew, Edward the Confessor, he confirmed them in the possession of the lands they had acquired. The same tradition also says that in the year 1061 certain pirates attacked and pillaged the island, and that their leader[172] “Le Grand Geoffroy,” or “Le Grand Sarasin,” had his stronghold on the site of what is now the Castel Church. Complaint having been made to Duke William, he sent over Samson d’Anneville, who succeeded, with the aid of the monks, in driving them out. For this service they were rewarded by the Duke with a grant of one half of the island, comprising, besides the Vale, what are now the parishes of the Castel, St. Saviour’s, and St. Peter’s-in-the-Wood. This grant they divided between them, and the monks, in right of their priory, held that portion of the lands which is still known as Le Fief St. Michel. The rest is now comprised for the most part in the Fiefs Le Comte and Anneville and their dependencies. To the south-east of the Vale Church is an old farm house which still bears the name of L’Abbaye, and which, without doubt, occupies the site of the original priory. Even at the present day, it is easy to trace part of the walls of the earlier edifice, which, however, was in a ruinous state as early as the reign of Henry IV., for we find Sir John de Lisle, Governor of Guernsey, writing to the Privy Council about the year 1406 for permission to use the timber of the building for the repairs of Castle Cornet, and alleging in his letter that the priory had fallen into decay, and giving as a reason for his request that in consequence of the war it was impossible to procure timber either from Normandy or Brittany.

The names of a few priors have survived. It is not quite clear whether a certain Robert, whose name appears as witness to the deed by which Robert, Abbot of Mont St. Michel, during a visit which he made to the island in 1156, appointed Guillaume Gavin, monk, to the chaplaincy of St. George, was Prior of the Vale or not. He is styled in the deed[173] Priest and Dean of the Vale (de Walo). In 1249 Henry, Canon of Blanchelande, was collated to the Vale Church by special dispensation. About 1307 Johannes de Porta was prior (probably a Du Port, a family of considerable antiquity in the island, and of good standing). In 1312 Guillaume Le Feivre filled the office. In 1323 Renauld Pastey was Prior of the Vale, and had a lawsuit with the inhabitants of that and other parishes concerning tithes. In 1331 there was another dispute concerning tithes, which was referred to the arbitration of two monks, Guillaume Le Feivre and Jourdain Poingdestre, who had both formerly been priors. In the year 1335 Andreas de Porta, 1364-68, Geoffrey de Carteret, and in 1365 Denis Le Marchant, clerk, was appointed seneschal of the Court of St. Michel.

According to the ballad known as “La Descente des Arragousais,” “Brégard”[84] was the monk in charge of the priory in 1372, and by his intrigues the Vale Castle fell into the hands of the enemy, which was evidently a legend current at the time. Guillaume Paul, alias Règne, in 1478, is the last prior of whom we have found mention.

The Priory of Lihou, as has been already said, was a dependency of St. Michel-du-Valle. The ruins of the church and other buildings are still to be seen. The former was entire at a time long subsequent to the Reformation, and is said to have been destroyed at the command of one of our Governors to prevent the possibility of its serving as an entrenchment in case of an enemy landing on the islet. It appears to have[174] replaced a still more ancient building, as many pieces of Caen stone, with well-executed Norman mouldings, are built into the walls. Probably the first building had been destroyed in some of the many inroads to which the island was subjected during the reign of Edward III.

An incumbent of Lihou, with the title of prior, existed until the time of the Reformation.

Now to come to the remaining chapels. The Extente of Edward III. speaks of the King’s Chaplain, John de Caretier, who received a salary out of the revenues of the island, and was bound to say mass daily for the King, and for the souls of his ancestors either in the chapel of Castle Cornet or in the chapel of His Majesty’s manor of La Grange. It is not exactly known where this manor was situated, but as the estate of the late John Carey, Esq., has always borne this name—the Grange—it is reasonable to suppose that it was thereabouts. The more so, as Richard II. founded the Convent of Cordeliers or Francisian friars on the ground now belonging to Elizabeth College, probably then comprised in the Grange estate. It must be said, however, that there are also reasons for supposing that the King’s Grange may have been situated elsewhere, probably in the vicinity of the Tour Gand, a fortress which defended the approaches of the town from the north, and this opinion derives some support from the fact that the Plaiderie, or Court House, is known to have existed in ancient times in this locality, and that in the middle ages a chapel was considered an almost essential adjunct to a Court of Justice.

To return to the Convent of the Cordeliers, it is known that the site of their church, called in Acts of[175] Court “La Chapelle des Frères,” is said to have stood opposite to the entrance of Le Cimetière des Frères, which was the burial ground belonging to this church, and, together with the site of the church, a considerable portion of land appears to have been alienated from the college, probably by the arbitrary act of some Governor of the island. The church consisted of a chancel and nave, the latter, on the building being given for the use of the college, serving as a school-room, and the former being occupied by the master. After its alienation the burial ground fell into the hands of an individual of the name of Blanche, who turned it into an orchard, but, a plague having broken out in 1629, the Court made an order that all who died of that disorder should be buried there, since which time it has served for a cemetery for the Town parish. How the burial ground attached to the Town Church came to acquire the name of “Cimetière des Sœurs” cannot now be known, as there can be no doubt that from time immemorial it was no other than the parochial cemetery. There is no document known to exist which points to any conventual establishment for females in the island, though there are traditions to that effect. There was, however, among many other fraternities, a “confrèrie de frères et sœurs” connected in some measure with this cemetery, and which may have given it the name. At the Reformation the land and rents due to this fraternity were seized by the Crown, and the list of them is still preserved among the records at the Greffe, with the following heading—[176]“Confessions de rentes dues aux frères et sœurs de la confrerye et fraternité de la charité, fondeye pour la dilyvrance des ames de purgatoyre, par les dis frayres et sœurs, constytuée, establye et ordonnée, en la Chapelle de Sepulcre estante dedans le cymetyere de St. Pierre Port,” &c., &c.

This proves the existence of a chapel in the churchyard, but whether it was the building known by the name of “Le Belfroi,” and which was demolished in 1787, cannot now be ascertained. “Belfroi” is the name given in the mediæval ages to a Town Hall. The edifice known by that name in St. Peter Port belonged to the Town, and was used latterly as a store-house for militia requisites. It is described as having been built of stone, vaulted, and divided into two apartments, an upper and a lower, the latterly partly underground. Probably the lower part of the building was used as a charnel house, in which the bones of the dead, after they had lain long enough in the ground to become quite dry, were piled up; for, among the duties to be performed by the officiating priest, we find that they were required to chant a “recorderis” over the bones of the dead. Such charnel houses are still very common in Brittany, and many country places throughout the continent.

Of the other chapels which existed in the Town parish the memory even has perished. The estate known as Ste. Catherine may possibly have derived its name from a chapel dedicated to that virgin martyr, but all that is known is that there was a fraternity or religious association under the patronage of this saint, which was endowed with wheat rents. Some of the rents seized by the Crown, and afterwards made over to Elizabeth College, were due to the “Frerie de Ste. Catherine,” and possibly this body possessed its own chapel. The site of the Chapel of[177] St. Jacques is well known, and traces of the foundations were still to be seen till comparatively lately. It was situated in a field on the Mon Plaisir estate, on the right hand side of the lane which leads from the Rue Rozel to the back of the Rocquettes, at the head of a little valley, just where the roadway is at the lowest. The orchard to the east of this spot, on the opposite side of the lane, is still known by the name of Le Cimetière, and human bones are still occasionally met with in digging. It had some land attached to it by way of endowment, which was sold by the Royal Commissioners in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, as we learn from the Livre de Perchage, temp. Elizabeth, in which it is called “La Chapelle de l’ydolle, St. Jacques,” and that Thomas Effard was in possession of land that had belonged to it. From the same document we learn that there was also a chapel called “La Chapelle de Lorette,” which, there is reason to suppose, may have been in the vicinity of Candie.

There was also a private chapel, of which we should have known absolutely nothing but for an old contract, still extant, of the early date of 1383, by which Perrot and Jannequin Le Marchant[85] sell a piece of ground for building purposes to Renolvet Denys. One of the conditions attached to the sale is that no edifice shall be erected on the land thus sold, which can in any manner take away from the view, or deprive the chapel of the manor and hall of the vendors, of light. The property in question was, without doubt, that to the south of the arch, leading to Manor Le Marchant and Lefebvre Street, and it is[178] curious that the contract mentions the existence of a vaulted gateway leading to the manor, at that early period permission being given to the purchaser of this ground to build over this arch. An archway still exists in the locality, and continues to bear the name of “La Porte,” as it did nearly five hundred years ago.

Now, to come to the only chapel that still exists—Ste. Apolline. There is no reason for supposing it to be of such great antiquity as is generally believed. The vault is pointed, and it is well known that the pointed arch did not make its appearance in architecture until the latter part of the twelfth century—say about 1160—whereas all our parishes are named in documents anterior to 1066. From the Cartulary of Mont Saint Michel we learn that in the year 1054 William Pichenoht, moved by compunction for the many and great sins he had committed, and desirous of turning monk, gave, with the consent of Duke William of Normandy, his lands of La Perrelle with all their appurtenances to the abbey. These lands were, no doubt, leased out afterwards by the monks to various individuals, the abbey retaining the “Seigneurie” over the whole.

In October, 1392, a certain Nicholas Henry, of La Perrelle, obtained the consent of the Abbot and monks of Mont St. Michel, as Lords of the Manor, to the endowment of a chapel which he had lately erected on his estate, subject, however to the sanction of the Sovereign as lord paramount. This permission was granted by Richard II. in July, 1394. The charter which is preserved among the island records at the Greffe authorises Nicholas Henry to endow the Chapel of Sainte Marie de la Perrelle for the[179] purpose of maintaining a chaplain who was to celebrate a daily mass for ever, for the safety of the said Nicholas Henry[86] and his wife Philippa, for their souls after they should have departed this life, and for the souls of all their ancestors, benefactors, and Christian people generally. Beside the three vergées of land, which are described as being bounded on the west by the property of Guillaume Blondel, and on the east by that of Thomas Dumaresq, both of which families are still landowners in the district, Nicholas Henry also gave to the chapel an annual wheat rent of four quarters due on a piece of ground adjoining. The chapel once established, other gifts were made from time to time by pious individuals who took part in the daily service. In 1485, Johan de Lisle, son of Colas, and Nicholas de Lisle, son of Pierre, acknowledged in the presence of the Bailiff and Jurats that they owed jointly the yearly rent of a hen to the Chaplain of Notre Dame de la Perrelle; and the latter acknowledged, moreover, to the annual payment of one bushel of wheat. On[180] March 2nd, 1492, Henry Le Tellier, of St. Saviour’s, also acknowledged that he owed two bushels of wheat rent to Sire Thomas Henry, who is also mentioned as Chaplain of St. Brioc, in 1477, and as Rector of the Castel, in 1478. He was also styled in an earlier deed, “Dom” Thomas, so was probably also a Benedictine monk, and it is not unlikely that he was grandson of the original founder of this chapel. Its identity with the building still existing is proved by an Act of the Royal Court “en Plaids d’Héritage” of June 6th, 1452, in which the chapel is spoken of as “La Chapelle de Notre Dame de la Perrelle, appelleye la Chapelle Sainte Appolyne.” It was then in the possession of Colin Henry, son of Jacques, and grandson of Nicholas, who is described as the founder of the chapel. Forty years later it changed hands, and was in the possession of the Guille family, perhaps by inheritance, for in April, 1496, Nicholas Guille, son of Nicholas, of St. Peter Port, sold the advowson of the chaplaincy to Edmond de Chesney, Seigneur of Anneville, in whose family it probably remained until they[87] sold their possessions to the Fouaschin family, from whom they came by inheritance into the family of Andros.[88]

We do not know how the name of Ste. Apolline came to be associated first with that of the Blessed Virgin, and then to have superseded it altogether. Possibly because there were already no less than five places of worship in the island under the invocation[181] of Our Lady—the Churches of the Castel, Torteval,[89] and Lihou, and the Chapels of Pulias and Le Château des Marais, commonly known as Ivy Castle. Saint Apollonia, or in French, Ste. Apolline, is said to have been a virgin of Alexandria, who was burned as a Christian martyr in the year 249.

The chapel is twenty-seven feet long by thirteen feet nine inches wide, and is built of rough unhewn stone, except the heads of the doorways, the jambs of the windows, and the corner stones of the edifice, which appear to have been coarsely wrought. The vault is in solid masonry of small stones cemented with a strong mortar, and if it was ever slated or tiled all traces of the covering have long since disappeared. The interior is stuccoed, and was originally adorned with mural paintings, of which some slight traces are yet to be seen. Figures of angels, and part of a group which seem to have been intended to represent the nativity of our Saviour, are still to be made out. There are three small narrow square headed windows, which may or may not once have been glazed—one in the east gable immediately above where the altar must have stood, and the other two in the north and south walls, near the east end of the building. There is no opening whatever in the western gable, which was surmounted originally by a bell-cote, of which the base only now remains. The hole through which the bell rope passed is still to be seen in the interior. To the south of the chapel is a very ancient and substantially built farm-house, which is traditionally said to have been the residence of the officiating priest. It is quite as probable that it was the manor house of the founder, Nicholas[182] Henry. In it were preserved the iron clapper of a bell, which is said to have belonged to the chapel, and some wrought stones, which probably formed the supports of the altar slab. A small silver burette, one of a pair, such as are used in the Roman Catholic Church to contain the wine and the water employed in the celebration of the mass, by tradition came originally from this chapel, it bearing the inscription “Sancte Paule ora pro nobis,” and on the lid is the letter A, denoting that it was the vessel intended to contain the water. It was in the possession of the ancient family of Guille, whose representative gave it to the Parish Church of St. Peter Port in memory of his father.

In the neighbourhood of Perrelle Bay there is a rock, standing at some little distance from the shore, never covered by the tide, and approachable when the tide is out, called “La Chapelle Dom Hue.” The appearance of the natural causeway, or, as it is locally termed “col” or “pont,” which leads to it, would induce one to believe that at some remote period it must have been a narrow neck of low land stretching out into the sea, which divided the bays of L’Erée and La Perrelle, and which has been gradually carried away by the constant action of the waves, leaving only the little hillock we now see. Probably, in ancient times, a small oratory, perhaps a hermitage, had been erected on this spot by a pious founder, “Dom” Hue, who, from his title, must have been a Benedictine monk, and, in all likelihood, a member of the Abbey of Mont Saint Michel, which was in possession of lands in this neighbourhood. There is still a small manor in the parish of St. Saviour’s which bears the name of[183] “Les Domaines Dom Hue,” and which we may reasonably suppose belonged originally to the same person, and possibly formed the endowment of the chapel.

The next chapel of which anything definite is known is “Notre Dame de Pulias,” otherwise “La Chapelle de l’Epine.” The ground on which it stood lies on the sea-shore, to the northward of the promontory of Noirmont, and, though separated from the rest of the parish by an intervening strip of land belonging to the Vale, forms in reality part of St. Sampson’s. The Vale parish consists of two distinct portions, the larger of which, called “Le Clos,” was, until the beginning of the present century, entirely divided from the rest of the island by an arm of the sea, which extended from St. Sampson’s Harbour to the Grand Havre near the Vale Church, and which was only passable at low water. The inhabitants of that part of the parish attached to the mainland of Guernsey, and which is called “La Vingtaine de l’Epine,” were thus cut off at times from all access to their parish church, and appear to have made use of this building, as a chapel of ease. It stood close to “La Mare de Pulias,” and in this neighbourhood a bit of wall is still shown, which is said to have formed part of the chapel. It is probable that it was under the patronage of the Seigneurs of Anneville, for the earliest notice found of this chapel is in an “extente” of this fief, dated 1405, in which it is stated that the common lands, extending along the shore between “La Chapelle de Notre Dame de Pulayes” and the rivulet of St. Brioc at Rocquaine, belong in moieties to the Abbot of St. Michel and the Lord of Anneville. This chapel had an endowment, for we find by the report of the[184] Royal Commissioners of 1607 that the parishioners of the Vale and St. Sampson’s petitioned that it might be restored to them, complaining—

“That whereas their predecessors, the inhabitants of the Vingtaine of the Epine, had in former times built a chapel, with a churchyard, for divine service, by reason of the sea, which doth oftentimes hinder them from going to their parish church of the Valle; and that since that time His Majesty’s Commissioners having considered how necessary that chapel was for them, it hath pleased the late Queen Elizabeth to grant unto them yearly ten or twelve quarters of wheat, for the maintenance both of the said chapel, and also of a schoolmaster to instruct their children; notwithstanding all which the said chapel, together with the churchyard, hath been utterly ruinated and the trees beaten down, and the grounds and rents belonging thereunto taken away, to the great grief and prejudice of the said parishioners, and therefore they humbly desire that the said chapel be built again by them that have thus ruinated it, and the rents belonging thereunto, for so necessary a use, be restored unto them again, with the tithes and rights concerning it.”

The answer and decision of the Commissioners was not satisfactory. They owned there was probably a chapel of ease on that spot, and they go on to state that, having examined some aged people who dwelt near the place, as well as the Lieutenant-Governor and other officers, they find that ten or twelve quarters of wheat had been given either towards the maintenance of the chapel or of a schoolmaster, and that some had heard divine service said there about the beginning of the reign of[185] Elizabeth and long before, but they can find no evidence to prove that it was founded or built for a chapel of ease, the complainants accounting for the absence of documentary evidence in support of their claim by alleging that the Governor had taken it away with him. The Commissioners go on to say that on further examinations they have had there was a certain Popish superstitious service used therein, and that wheat rents had been given by certain inhabitants for the saying of a morrow mass upon Sundays, and for such like superstitious uses, and that about forty years previously, the chapel, with all appertaining to it, had been seized for the use of the Queen. The conclusion they arrived at was that the seizure was legal, and should be maintained.

At the north-east extremity of the Clos-du-Valle, near the estate called Paradis, and a little way beyond the cromlech called Déhus or Thus, stood La Chapelle de Saint Malière or Magloire, an early apostle of the island.

All traces of this chapel have long since disappeared, but its site is still pointed out as being that of a little thatch-covered cottage on the side of the hill.[90] The old farmhouse close by, called “St. Magloire,” is said to have been the residence of the priest attached to its service.

It is mentioned as early as the year 1155 in a Bull of Pope Adrian IV. (Breakspear), together with other churches and chapels in Guernsey, as being the property and in the patronage of Mont Saint[186] Michel. The only other notice we have of this chapel is the tradition recorded by some of our historians that, at the time of the Reformation, the plate, ornaments, vestments, and records, belonging to the churches in this island, were secretly buried here by the Roman Catholic clergy, with a view to their removal to Normandy when a fitting opportunity should offer, but that one John Le Pelley, a schoolmaster, having by some means got information of the circumstances, dug them up some few years later, and sold them to some Normans of Coutances, who conveyed them away.

Saint Magloire was the nephew and pupil of Saint Samson, and was born in the middle of the sixth century. He succeeded his uncle, Samson, as Bishop of Dol, but after a few years resigned his charge and retreated to Sark, where he founded a sort of monastery or missionary college, and where he died. His remains were translated in the ninth century to Léhon, near Dinan, and afterwards to Paris, where they were deposited in the church which still bears the name of the saint.

Two localities in the immediate neighbourhood of St. Malière bear the singular names of “Paradis” and “Enfer.” Tradition is entirely silent as to the origin of these names, but it is possible that they may have been in some way connected with the chapel, and with some of the superstitious usages so common among the nations of Celtic origin.

The Chapel of St. Clair was named after the first Bishop of Nantes, who lived in the third century. This chapel stood on the hill a little to the eastward of the farmhouse in Saint Sampson’s parish which still bears the name. In clearing the ground for quarries[187] of late years many human bones and a few gravestones have been discovered there.

It was situated on the “Franc-Fief Gallicien,” the tenants of which enjoy to this day an exemption from certain feudal duties, which is said to have been granted to their forefathers by King Edward IV. in acknowledgment of the services rendered by them as mariners in bringing him to this island from Exmouth, when, as Earl of March, he escaped with the famous Earl of Warwick, and their followers from England, after a victory gained by Henry VII. over the Yorkist party in October, 1459.

The Chapel of St. Germain was in the Castel parish, and its holy well, which is still regarded by some as no less efficacious than the fountain of St. George, was situated to the northward of that chapel. All traces of the building have long since disappeared, and all that we know of it is that in the Extents of Queen Elizabeth and James I. a rent payable to the Crown is described as “due on a piece of ground situated near the Chapel of St. Germain.”

There is also said to have been a Chapel of Ste. Anne, near the King’s Mills, more correctly designated as Les Grands Moulins. St. Anne also had her sacred fountain. The names of “Ste. Hélène,” at St. Andrew’s, and La Madeleine, St. Pierre-du-Bois, may also have been derived from religious buildings, but of these nothing but the names now remain.

In St. Martin’s parish there was a chapel attached to the Priory of Blanchelande, and another, Saint Jean de la Houguette, which very probably was erected on the site now occupied by the parish school.[91]

In the Extente of the Fief Anneville it is said that[188] the lord has his “Chapelles.” It is probable that all the feudal lords who held the lands direct from the Crown had the same right of chapel. Such at least seems to have been the case in Jersey, where some still exist, and in the Clos-du-Valle, situated in the Vale parish, is a field called “La Chapelle du Sud,” west of a field called “Le Galle,” on the Crown lands. Here was probably the site of a now forgotten chapel.

Closely connected with the chapels and churches are the holy wells. Even in pagan times, before the introduction of Christianity, it is well known that a sort of worship was paid to the nymphs or deities who were supposed to haunt these fountains, and to whose interference were attributed the cures effected by the use of these waters. When a purer faith was preached, and it was found impossible to wean the minds of the people entirely away from a belief in the supernatural qualities of these springs, the early missionaries—whether wisely or not it is difficult to say—sought to direct the attention of their converts into a new channel, and bestowed the name of some saint on these hallowed spots, who thenceforth was supposed to stand in the place of the ancient local deity or genius of the well.

Holy wells still exist in many parts of the island, and are resorted to for various purposes, but principally for the cure of erysipelas, rheumatism and glandular swellings, and inflammation or weakness of the eyes. These maladies are all called by the country people[189] “Mal de la Fontaine.”

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Whether the water will prove efficacious as a remedy is ascertained by noticing the effect produced on applying it. If it evaporates rapidly, passing off in steam, or runs off the swelling like little drops of quicksilver, it is of the right sort, and the sufferer may hope for a speedy cure. Still, there are certain ceremonies to be observed, without which it is useless to make the attempt.

It must be applied before the patient has broken his fast for nine consecutive mornings, and must be dropped on to the affected place with the fingers, and not put on with a sponge or rag. It must be taken fresh from the well every day at daybreak. The person who draws it must on no account speak to anyone either on his way to, or from the fountain, and must be particularly careful not to spill a single drop from the pitcher. It is customary to leave a small coin on the edge of the well, which was doubtless intended originally as an offering to the saint who was supposed to have the spring under his especial protection, and whose name it bore. These wells are said also to be used for purposes of divination. The maiden who is desirous of knowing who her future husband is to be, must visit the fountain for nine consecutive mornings fasting and in silence. On the last day when she looks into the clear basin of the well, she will see the face of him she is fated to wed reflected in the water. Should her destiny be to die unmarried, it is believed that a grinning skull will appear instead of the wished-for face.

The well most in repute is that of St. George, in the parish of Ste. Marie du Castel, but St. Germain[191] and Ste. Anne, at no great distance, have their votaries, and there are also the “Fontaine de St. Clair,” near St. Andrew’s Church, the fountain of Gounebec in the valley of that name near the Moulin de Haut, two in the parish of the Forest,—that known by the name of “La Fontaine St. Martin,” which rises on the cliffs to the westward of the point of La Corbière, and the other at a point between Le Gron and La Planque, where the three parishes of the Forest, St. Saviour’s, and St. Andrew’s meet. The “Fontaine de Lesset,” at St. Saviour’s, is also renowned. In the parish of St. Peter Port the fountain of Le Vau Laurent was famous for the cure of sore eyes, and the water of another on the side of the hill below Les Côtils, known formerly as “La Fontaine des Corbins,” was supposed to be efficacious in cases of consumption if taken inwardly. “La Fontaine Fleurie,” near Havelet, and another in the marshes near the ruined stronghold of “Le Château des Marais,” commonly known as the Ivy Castle, are also resorted to. The fountains of St. Pierre and Notre Dame are mentioned in early ordinances of the Royal Court. The former is known to have been situated near the Town Church, at a spot called Le Pont Orchon, in the street which still bears the name of “La Rue de la Fontaine.” The latter was apparently at the foot of the Mont Gibet, at the upper end of what is now the Market Place. The erection of pumps over most of these springs has deprived them of their ancient prestige, and has effectually removed any curative properties which they may formerly have possessed. Although every spring was not efficacious in all cases, to insure a cure it was necessary to use the water of a particular well, and, in order to choose it to consult certain persons[192] who are knowing in these matters, and who, by an inspection of the part affected are able to tell what particular spring should be resorted to.[92]

We have already mentioned the well of St. George as being supreme in its sanctity; indeed we may almost say that its reputation is such that it throws all others into the shade. It stands near the ruined chapel of the same name.

A place of such antiquity and reputed sanctity might naturally be expected to have its legends, though many doubtless have disappeared, but a firm faith still exists in the miraculous properties of the water of the well, and the old people still say that on tempestuous nights, especially during thunder and lightning, the form of a horse, darting flames of fire from its eyes and nostrils, may be seen galloping[193] thrice, and thrice only, round the ruined precincts of the chapel.

Some accounts of the spectral appearance speak only of a horse’s head enveloped in flames, without the accompaniment of a body.[93]

The territory of St. George was also formerly known by the name of “St. Grégoire,” and, though Nicholas Breakspear, Pope Adrian IV., numbers “La Chapelle de St. George” among the possessions of St. Michel in his Bull of 1155, Robert de Thorigni calls it “St. Grégoire” in 1156, but in many places the St. George of the legends seems to have been confused with the “Egrégoires,” the watcher, “l’ange qui veille,” of the old world. It is, according to mythology, “l’Egrégoire” who mounts the white horse that leads to victory, which apparition, in the moment of danger, has roused so many Catholic armies from despair.

The fountain was so much resorted to for divers superstitions formerly, that in 1408 an Act was passed by the Royal Court, at the request of Dom Toulley, Prêtre de St. George, under the Bailiff Gervais de Clermont, that the pathway to the fountain was only open to the faithful on their way to divine service, or to the sick who came to be healed.

We may add that an adjoining field bears the[194] name of “Le Trépied,” a name which is to be found in other localities in the island, and which indicates that a primæval stone monument, of the nature of those commonly called Druid’s altars, may have at one time stood there. These, as has already been shown, have always had the reputation of being the haunt of fairies, and sometimes of spirits of a less innocent nature.

St. Patrick and St. George, in the days when there were “saints errant” as well as “knights errant,” both happened to come to Guernsey, and met on this spot. St. Patrick had just arrived from Jersey, where the inhabitants had pelted him with stones and treated him with such systematic rudeness that the saint, furious, came on to Guernsey, and there he was welcomed with effusion. Meeting St. George, they began to quarrel as to whom the island should in future belong. However, being saints, they decided that it would be more consistent with their profession each to give some special boon to the island, and then go their ways. So St. Patrick filled his wallet with all the noxious things to be found,—toads, snakes, etc.,—and went back to Jersey and there emptied it, freeing Guernsey for ever from all things poisonous, while giving to Jersey a double share. St. George smote the tiny stream at his feet, “the waters to be for the healing of diseases, and a blessing to whoever shall own this spot. He shall never lack for bread, nor shall he ever be childless whilst this well be preserved untainted.” Now, many, many years ago, the Guilles, who still own St. George, inherited it from the De Jerseys, and it so happened that the lord of the estate had an only[195] son who was naturally very dear to him. An old friend of the family brought him a canary bird as a pet, and, as one had never before been seen in Guernsey, it was very precious. One day it flew away from its cage, the door being accidentally left open, and was pursued hotly by the child. It made for the well, and apparently flew in, for the child was bending forward, an act which would inevitably have caused him to fall in, when he was arrested by the neighing of a horse behind him. He looked round and saw the fiery head of St. George’s charger disappearing among the trees. That look saved him, and the bird was seen perched on the cross above the well, singing loudly. Presently it flew back to its little master, who had been saved by St. George from a watery grave, and a picture of the boy with his canary bird is still to be seen among the Guille family portraits.[94]

There is a curious property attached to this well, that is that if a maiden visits it, fasting and in silence, on nine successive mornings, carefully depositing a piece of silver in the niche as an offering to the saint, she is assured of matrimony within nine times nine weeks, and, by looking into the well with an earnest desire to behold the image of the intended husband, his face will appear mirrored in the water. And, in former times, when the man was identified, the girl gave his name to the priest, who then summoned him before St. George, and, as destined for each other by Heaven, they were solemnly united.[196] There is still a tradition extant of one of the neighbouring girls of the parish, being forbidden by her father to marry the man on whom her heart was set, on the ground of his poverty, declaring that, having seen his face in the well, he was evidently destined for her by Heaven, and that she would claim him as her fate before the priest. On this her father, fearing the exposure and public censure, gave his consent to the marriage.[95]

There is also a legend told by Mr. Métivier of a country girl stealing out one summer night in the year 1798, to meet her lover near the well, flying home terrified, having seen a troop of bare skeletons grouped round the well, and gazing into the troubled waters.

Connected with the Chapel of St. George was a cemetery, which boasted of many relics, famous for their miracles.

At one time this cemetery was said to be haunted by a beautiful young girl. Every night wailing and crying was heard, and a figure was seen, much mangled, walking about. The cries were supposed to proceed from the tomb of a girl who had disappeared from her home one night in a most mysterious manner, and whose mangled corpse was picked up a few days later near the Hanois rocks, so battered and bruised that it was evidently not a case of suicide. However, in course of time, a grave being opened near hers, some bones were thrown up, and, being handled by an old man who in days gone by had been the murdered girl’s lover, a stream of blood oozed out of the dry bone! and with awful shrieks he owned to having been her murderer, and[197] was executed soon afterwards at the “Champ du Gibet” at St. Andrew’s.

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It is not very easy to ascertain precisely what the popular idea of a fairy is. The belief in them seems to have died out, or, perhaps, to speak more correctly, they are no longer looked upon as beings that have any existence in[199] the present day. That such a race did once exist, that they possessed supernatural powers, that they sometimes entered into communication with mankind, is still believed, but all that is related of them is told as events that happened long before the memory of man, and it is curious to see how a known historical fact—the invasion of the island by Yvon de Galles in the fourteenth century,—has, in the lapse of ages, assumed the form of a myth, and how his Spanish troops have been converted into denizens of fairyland. Perhaps, as has been suggested by some writers who have made popular antiquities their peculiar study, all fairy mythology may be referred to a confused tradition of a primæval race of men, who were gradually driven out by the encroachments of more advanced civilization. According to this theory the inferior race retired before their conquerors into the most remote parts of the woods and hills, where they constructed for themselves rude dwellings, partly underground and covered with turf, such as may still be found in Lapland and Finland, or made use of the natural fissures in the rocks for their habitations, thus giving rise to the idea that fairies and dwarfs inhabit hills and the innermost recesses of the mountains. In the superior cunning which an oppressed race frequently possesses may have originated the opinion generally entertained of the great intelligence of the fairy people—and, as it is not to be supposed that a constant warfare was going on between the races, it is far from improbable that some of the stories which turn on the kindly intercourse of fairies with mortals, may have arisen in the recollection of neighbourly acts. The popular belief that flint arrow-heads are their work—the names[200] given in these islands—“rouets des faïkiaux,” or fairies’ spindles, to a sort of small perforated disc or flattened bead of stone which is occasionally dug up, and “pipes des faïkiaux” to the tiny pipes which date from the first introduction of tobacco,—their connection in the minds of the peasantry with the remains commonly called druidical, and, indeed, with any antiquity for which they cannot readily account, are all more or less confirmatory of the theory above alluded to. Some years ago a grave, walled up on the inside with stones, and containing a skeleton and the remains of some arms, was discovered on a hillside near L’Erée. The country people without hesitation pronounced it to be “Le Tombé du Rouai des Fâïes.”

One well-preserved cromlech in the same neighbourhood is called “Le Creux des Fâïes” and the local name of cromlechs, in general “pouquelâie,” may have some reference to that famous fairy Puck, or Robin Goodfellow, the west country Pixie, or Pisky, and the mischievous Irish goblin Phooka.

According to the best accounts the fairies are a very small people, and always extremely well dressed. The inhabitants of Sark attribute to them the peculiarity of carrying their heads under their arms. They are fond of sporting among the green branches of the trees, and on the borders of running streams. They are supposed to live underground in ant hills, and to have a particular affection for upright stones, around which they assemble, or which they use as marks in some of their games, and the removal of which they are apt to resent by causing injury to the persons or property of those who are bold enough to brave their displeasure in this respect. Some are[201] domestic, living invisibly about the hearth-stone or oven, but willing to make themselves useful by finishing the work which the housewife had not been able to complete during the day. They expected, however, as a reward for their kind offices that a bowl of milk porridge should be set on the floor for them when the family retired to rest. On one occasion a fairy was heard complaining that the porridge was too hot and scalded her. The sensible advice was given—to wait until it cooled.

The few stories about fairies that I have been able to collect are given in these pages, and are very much the same as those related in other countries. Of the more elaborate fairy tale—that which recounts the adventures of a life-time, and in which a supernatural being—commonly called a fairy, but who has little or nothing in common with the fays who dance on the green sward by the light of the moon—is the directing influence either for good or bad,—I have been able to discover only the very slightest trace.

That such tales did once exist, and that they were related by nurses to amuse their young charges, is, I think, sufficiently proved by allusions sometimes made to Chendrouine, as our old acquaintance Cendrillon or Cinderella is called, and by the fact that a friend of mine remembers an old servant telling him the story of “Pel de Cat,” evidently the same as the English story of “Cat-skin,” which however appears in the French collections of fairy tales by the name of “Peau d’Ane.” All that my friend could recall to mind were the words in which the heroine of the tale is welcomed into a house where she seeks for shelter, and which[202] have a rhythmical cadence that smacks strongly of antiquity:—

But the best informed among the peasantry do not hesitate in expressing their belief that the fairies were a race who lived long before the ancestors of the present occupants of the land had effected a settlement in the island; that the cromlechs were erected by them for dwelling places, and that the remains of pottery which have been from time to time discovered in these primæval structures plainly prove their derivation.

That the fairy race possessed supernatural strength[203] and knowledge there can be no doubt, or how could they have moved such enormous blocks of stone? Whether their strength and extraordinary science was a gift from Heaven, or whether they acquired these endowments by having entered into a league with the powers of darkness, is a very doubtful and disputed question. Some say they were a highly religious people, and that they possessed the gift of working miracles. Others shake their heads and say that their knowledge, though perhaps greater, was of the same nature as that possessed in later times by wizards and witches, who, as everybody knows, derive their power from the wicked one.[97]

Some fifty or sixty years since, it was still firmly believed in the country that the fairies assisted the industrious, and that, if a stocking or other piece of knitting was placed at night on the hearth or at the mouth of the oven with a bowl of pap, in the morning the work would be found completed and the pap eaten. Should idleness, however, have prompted the knitter to seek the assistance of the invisible people, not only did the work remain undone and the pap uneaten, but the insult put upon them was severely revenged by blows inflicted on the offending parties during their sleep.[98]

It is asserted by some old people in the neighbourhood of L’Erée that, in days gone by, if a bowl of milk porridge was taken in the evening to the “Creux des Fâïes,” and left there with a piece of knitting that it was desired to have speedily finished, and a fitting supply of worsted and knitting needles, the[204] bowl would be found next morning emptied of its contents, and the work completed in a superior manner.[99]

At a very remote period there lived in the neighbourhood of Vazon a girl of extraordinary beauty. One morning, as was her usual custom, she left her cottage at an early hour to attend to her cows, when, on entering the meadow, she was astonished to find asleep on the grass, under the shelter of a hedge, a young man of very small stature, but finely proportioned, and remarkably handsome. He was habited in a rich suit of grass-green, and by his side lay his bow and arrows. Wondering who the stranger could be, and fascinated by his beauty and splendid appearance, the maiden stood in silent admiration, until he awoke and addressed her. Her person and manners seem to have had as much influence on the youth as his appearance had produced on the damsel. He informed her that he was a fairy from England, and made her an offer of his hand. She immediately consented to unite her destiny with his, and followed him to the sea-shore, where a barque was waiting, which conveyed the happy pair to fairyland.

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[206]

Time passed on, and the disappearance of the maiden was almost forgotten, when, one morning, a man who was going down to Vazon Bay at day-break was surprised to see a numerous host of diminutive men issuing, like a flock of bees, from the Creux des Fâïes, and lurking among the reeds and rushes of Le Grand Marais. He inquired who they were, and what had induced them to visit the Holy Isle. One, who appeared their leader, answered for all, and told the affrighted man, that, charmed with the beauty and grace of the damsel that one of their companions had brought from the island, they were determined also to possess wives from the same country. They then deputed him to be the bearer of a message to the men of Guernsey, summoning them to give up their wives and daughters, and threatening them with their heaviest displeasure in case of a refusal. Such an exorbitant demand was, of course, with one accord refused, and the Guernseymen prepared to defend their families and drive the bold invaders from their shores. But, alas! what can poor mortals avail against supernatural beings! The fairies drove them eastward with great carnage. The last stand was made near Le Mont Arrivel, but, wearied and dispirited, they fell an easy prey to their merciless enemies, who put every soul to the sword. Their blood flowed down to the shore, and tinged the sea to a considerable distance, and the road where this massacre took place still retains the memory of the deed, and is known to this day by the name of La Rouge Rue. Two men only of St. Andrew’s parish[207] are reported to have escaped by hiding in an oven. The fairies then entered into quiet possession of the families and domains of the slain; the widows began to be reconciled to their new masters, the maidens were pleased with their fairy lovers, and the island once more grew prosperous. But this happy state of things could not last for ever. The immutable laws of fairyland will not allow their subjects to sojourn among mortals more than a certain number of years, and at last the dwellers in Sarnia were obliged to bid adieu to the shady valleys, the sunny hills, and flowery plains, which they had delighted to rove amongst and which their skill and industry had materially improved. With heavy hearts they bade adieu to the scene of their fondest recollections, and re-imbarked. But, since then, no Guernsey witch has ever needed a broomstick for her nocturnal journeys, having inherited wings from her fairy ancestors, and the old people endeavour to account for the small stature of many families by relating how the fairies once mingled their race with that of mortals.[100]

The fairies sometimes avail themselves of the services of mankind, and in return are willing to assist and reward them as far as lies in their power, but woe to the unhappy mortal who chances to offend them!—for they are as pitiless as they are powerful.

It is said that one night a woman, who lived in the neighbourhood of Houmet and who gained her livelihood by nursing and attending on the sick,[208] heard herself called from without. She immediately arose, and, looking out, saw a man who was totally unknown to her standing at the door. He accosted her, and, telling her that he required her services for a sick child, bade her follow him. She obeyed, and he led the way to the mouth of the little cavern at Houmet, called Le Creux des Fées. She felt alarmed, but, having proceeded too far to retreat, resolved to put a bold front on the matter, and followed her mysterious guide. As they advanced, she was astonished to find that the cave put on a totally different appearance—the damp rugged walls became smooth, and a bright light disclosed the entrance of a magnificent dwelling.

The poor woman soon comprehended that she had penetrated into fairyland, but, relying on the good intentions of her conductor, she followed him into an apartment where a child was lying ill in a cradle, whom she was desired to attend to and nurse. She entered on her new duties with alacrity, and was plentifully supplied by the fairies with every necessary and even luxury. One day, however, as she was fondling the infant, some of its spittle chanced to touch her eyes. Immediately everything around her put on a different aspect—the brilliant apartment once more became a dismal cavern, and squalor and misery replaced the semblance of riches and abundance. She was too prudent, however, to impart to any of the fairy people the discovery she had made, and, the health of the child being quite restored, solicited her dismissal, which was granted her with many thanks, and a handsome compensation for her trouble.

The Saturday following her return to the light of[209] day, she went into town to make her weekly purchases of provisions and other necessaries, and, stepping into a shop in the Haut Pavé, was astonished to see one of her acquaintances of the Creux des Fâïes busily employed in filling a basket with the various commodities exposed for sale, but evidently unseen by all in the shop but herself. No longer at a loss to know whence the abundance in the fairies’ cavern proceeded, and, indignant at the roguery practised on the unsuspecting shopkeeper, she addressed the pilferer and said “Ah, wicked one! I see thee!”

“You see me—do you?” answered the fairy. “And how—pray?”

“With my eyes to be sure,” replied the woman, off her guard.

“Well then,” replied he, “I will easily put a stop to any future prying into our affairs on your part.”

And, saying this, he spat in her eyes, and she instantly became stone blind![101]

There is another version of the preceding, called

Late one night an old woman was called up by a man with whom she was unacquainted, and requested to follow as quickly as possible, as his wife was in labour and required her immediate assistance. She obeyed, and was led by her guide into a miserable hovel, where everything appeared wretched, the few articles of furniture falling to pieces, and the household vessels of the coarsest ware, and scarcely one whole. Shortly after her arrival, her patient was safely delivered of a child. When she was about to make[210] use of some water which stood in a pail, to wash the child with, and had already dipped her hand into it, she was earnestly requested not to meddle with that water, but to use some which stood in a jug close by. She chanced, however, to lift her hand, still wet, to her face, and a drop of the water got into one of her eyes. Immediately she saw everything under a different aspect; the house appeared rich and magnificently furnished, and the broken earthenware turned into vessels of gold and silver.

She was, however, too prudent to express her surprise, and, when her services were no longer required, left the place.

Some time afterwards she met the man in town and accosted him. “What,” said he, “You see me! How is this?” Taken unawares, she mentioned what she had done in the cottage, and which of her eyes was endowed with the faculty of beholding him: he immediately spat in it, and destroyed her sight for ever.[102]

Two men were at work in a field near L’Erée, when suddenly their plough stopped, nor would their[211] united strength, joined to that of the oxen, succeed in moving it. As they looked about them, wondering what could be the reason of this stoppage, they observed in one of the neighbouring furrows an iron kettle, such as was formerly used for baking bread and cake on the hearth. On approaching it they noticed that it contained a bit which had been broken out of the side, and a couple of nails. On stooping to lift it, they heard a voice desiring them to get it mended, and when done to replace it on the same spot where they had found it. They complied with the request, went to the nearest smith, and on their return to the field with the kettle, which they replaced as directed, continued their work, the plough moving as readily as before. They had completed several furrows when a second time the plough remained stationary. On this occasion they observed a bundle neatly tied up lying near them, and, on opening it, found it to contain a newly-baked cake, quite warm, and a bottle of cider. At the same time they were again addressed by their invisible friend, who bade them eat and drink without fear, thanked them for the readiness with which they had attended to his wishes, and assured them that a kind action never goes without its reward.[103]

The fairies are reported to have regarded some households with particular favour, and to have lived on very neighbourly terms with them, borrowing or lending as occasion might require.

The families of De Garis and Dumont are among[212] those who are said to have been in their good graces, and it was to a De Garis the following incident happened.

To the south of the Church of St. Pierre du Bois there lies a little dell, through which runs a small stream of water known by the singular name of “Le Douït d’Israël.” This valley is said to have been in former days a favourite resort of the fairy folk, and tradition affirms that a very kindly feeling existed between them and the mortal inhabitants of the land. A cottage is still pointed out, not far from the estate called “Le Colombier,” which is said to have been the abode of a countryman and his wife with whom the fairies were in constant communication. Frequently, at night, the elves would come and request the loan of a cart until the morning, and their request was always complied with willingly, for it was always accompanied with the following promise:—

Permission to take the cart was never refused, for it was always returned in perfect order, and, if any injury was done to the metal-work during the[213] nocturnal journey, it was found the next day carefully repaired with pure silver. But what use was made of it is unknown. Some pretend that a sound of wheels was sometimes heard in the dead of night rolling over the cliffs at Pleinmont, where no horse could have found a footing.[104]

Fairies have sometimes been known to enter into the service of mankind, but by what motives they were actuated in so doing is not clear. A certain “Mess”[105] Dumaresq, of “Les Grands Moulins,” once engaged as a farm servant a boy who offered himself. No one knew whence he came, nor did he appear to have any relations. He was extremely lively, active, and attentive to his duties, but so small that he acquired and was known by no other name than that of “P’tit Colin.” One morning as Dumaresq was returning from St. Saviour’s, he was astonished, on passing the haunted hill known as “La Roque où le Coq Chante,” to hear himself called by name. He stopped his horse and looked round, but could see no one. Thinking that his imagination must have deceived him, he began to move on, but was again arrested by the voice. A second time he stopped and looked round, but with no more success than the first. Beginning to feel alarmed, he pushed his horse forward, but was a third time stopped by the voice. He now summoned up all his courage and asked who it was that called, and what was required of him. The voice immediately answered,—

[214]

“Go home directly and tell P’tit Colin that Grand Colin is dead.”

Wondering what could be the meaning of this, he made the best of his way home, and, on his arrival, sent for Le Petit Colin, to whom he communicated what had befallen him. The boy replied, “What! Is Le Grand Colin dead? Then I must leave you,” and immediately turned round to depart.

“Stop,” said Mess Dumaresq, “I must pay you your wages.”

“Wages!” said Colin, with a laugh, “I am far richer now than you. Goodbye.”

Saying this he left the room and was never afterwards seen or heard of.

This story is still related by Dumaresq’s descendants.[106]

Le Grand Colin and Le Petit Colin, whose names have already been mentioned in connection with La Longue Roque and La Roque où le Coq Chante,[215] appear to have belonged to that race of household spirits who used to take up their abode on or near the hearth, and who, although rarely making themselves visible to the human inhabitants of the house, were willing, so long as no attempt was made to pry into their secrets, to render occasional acts of kindness to those under whose roof they dwelt, especially if they were honest and industrious.

A man and his wife occupied a small cottage at St. Brioc. The man gained his living as many along the western coasts of the island do. When the weather was favourable he went out fishing. After gales of wind he was up with the first dawn of day to secure his share of the sea-weed which the waves had cast up on the shore, or perchance a spar or cordage detached from some unfortunate ship that had gone down in the storm. At other times he cultivated his own small plot of ground, or hired himself out as a day labourer to some of the[216] neighbouring farmers who were in want of assistance. In short he was never idle.

They lived in a typical old Guernsey country farm-house, with old walls of grey granite, a thatched roof, small diamond-paned windows, and arched doorways, with its half-door or “hecq.” Inside they are all built much on the same pattern. The front door opens into an entrance hall, on one side of which is the “living” room of the house,—parlour and kitchen in one,—with a huge chimney, sometimes adorned with quaint old carvings, as at “Les Fontaines,” in the Castel parish, a low hearth stone, a smouldering vraic fire, and “trepied.” Still inside its enclosure are stone seats, a large bread oven built in the thickness of the wall, and a hook whereon to hang the “crâset” lamp.

A rack hangs from the low oak ceiling, diversified by its huge centre beam or “poûtre.” On this is kept the bacon, and the grease for the “soupe à la graisse,” or “de cabôche.” A “jonquière,” which is an oblong wooden frame about three feet from the ground, is placed in a corner near the fire and if possible near a window, and is used as a sofa by the family. Formerly it was stuffed with rushes, whence its name. Peastraw or dried fern, covered with green baize, now take their place, and it is frequently called the “green bed.” A long table and forms, with an eight-day clock by Naftel, Lenfestey, or Blondel, and an old carved chest, which contained the bride’s dower of linen in bygone times, is the ordinary furniture of the rooms, whose principal ornament consists of some of the beautiful china brought by sailor sons from the far East or Holland. The floors boast for carpet nothing but earth covered with clean sand, daily renewed.

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On the other side of the passage is the best bedroom, with its four poster, and some still have on their mantel-pieces the old tinder boxes, with their flint and steel, and separate compartments for the burnt rag or tinder. Beyond are the winding stone steps, built in a curve beyond the straight wall of the house, and above are more bedrooms, or, in smaller houses, simply a “ch’nas” or loft.

His wife also was never idle. She was one of the shrewd, industrious, and frugal race, who were content with a diet of bacon and cabbage, barley-bread and cider, and who are, alas, disappearing fast. Night after night, when her husband had returned home, and, tired out with the fatigues of the day, had gone to rest and was sound asleep, she would sit up till a late hour on the “jonquière” and ply her spinning wheel by the dim light of the “crâset.”

While thus occupied, she, one night, heard a knock at the door, and a voice enquiring whether the oven was hot, and whether a batch of dough might be baked in it. A voice from within then enquired who it was that stood without, and, on the answer being given that it was Le Petit Colin, permission was immediately granted, and the door opened to admit him. She then heard the noise of the dough being placed in the oven, and a conversation between the two, by which she learned that the inmate of the house was called Le Grand Colin. After the usual time the bread was drawn, and the mysterious visitor departed, leaving behind him, on the table, a nicely baked cake, with an intimation that it was in return for the use of the oven.

This was repeated frequently and at regular intervals, and the woman at last mentioned the circumstance to her husband. The fairer sex is frequently accused of[218] an inclination to pry into secrets and taunted with the evils which too often result from inordinate curiosity, but in this instance it was the husband who was to blame. He was seized with a violent desire to penetrate the mystery, notwithstanding the earnest entreaties of his wife—who had a shrewd suspicion of the real state of the case—that he should leave well alone. His will prevailed, and it was settled that on the night when the invisible baker was expected, the husband should take his wife’s place on the “jonquière,” disguised in her clothes, and that she should go to bed. Knowing that her husband could not spin, the careful housewife thought it prudent not to put the usual supply of flax or wool on the distaff, lest the good man, in turning the wheel, should spoil it. He had not been long at his post and pretending to spin, when the expected visitor came. He could see nothing, but he heard one of the two say to the other:—

Upon which both were heard to quit the house as if in anger, and were never again known to revisit it.[107]

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In times long past a young couple occupied a cottage in the neighbourhood of L’Erée. They were in the second year of their marriage, and little more than a fortnight had elapsed since the wife had presented her husband with his first-born son. The happy father, who, like most of the inhabitants of the coast, filled up the time in which he was not otherwise occupied, in collecting sea-weed or fishing, returned one morning from the beach with a basketful of limpets. There are various ways of cooking this shell-fish, which, from the earliest times, appears to have formed a considerable article of food among the poorer inhabitants of the sea-shore, and one of the ways of dressing them is by placing them on the hot embers, where they are soon baked or fried in their own cup-shaped shells. Cooked in this manner they form an appetizing relish to the “dorâïe,” or slice of bread-and-butter, which forms the ordinary mid-day meal of the labouring man.

A good fire of furze and sea-weed was flaming on the hearth when the man entered his cottage, and, having raked the hot embers together, he proceeded to arrange the limpets on the ashes, and then left them to cook while he went out to finish digging a piece of ground. The wife in the meanwhile was occupied in some domestic work, but casting a look from time to time on her new-born babe, which was sleeping quietly in its cradle. Suddenly she was[220] startled by hearing an unknown voice, which seemed to proceed from the child. She turned quickly round, and was much surprised to see the infant sitting up, and looking with the greatest interest at the fire-place, and to hear it exclaim in tones of astonishment:—

She had heard old wives tell how the fairies sometimes took advantage of the absence of the mother or nurse, to steal away a sleeping child, and to substitute one of their own bantlings in its place, and how the only way to cause them to make restitution was to throw the changeling on the hearth, when the fairy mother, unable to withstand the piteous cries of her offspring, was sure to appear, and bring back the stolen infant with her.

She lost no time therefore in catching up the fairy imp, who, knowing the fate that awaited him, set up a fearful yell. Immediately, the fairy mother, without stopping to lift the latch, leaped over the “hecq” or half-door, and, restoring to the trembling housewife her babe uninjured, snatched up her own squalling brat, and departed by the same way she had come.[108]

The parish of Notre Dame du Castel, or, as it is now the fashion to call it, St. Mary de Castro, is the largest in the island, but the church is situated at one extremity of the parish, close on the bounds[221] of St. Andrew’s, to the great inconvenience of many of the parishioners. It is true that in former days they had some relief in the Chapels of Ste. Anne, St. George, and St. Germain, but chapels are not parish churches, and many, while trudging through the miry roads in winter, or toiling up the dusty hill in summer, when some of the great festivals required them to present themselves at the mother church, have inquired how it came to pass that so inconvenient a site had been chosen. The old people, depositaries of the ancient traditions of the place, will answer that originally the foundations were laid in a field called “Les Tuzés,” but this was haunted ground, and a favourite resort of the fairies, and that, these little ladies, unwilling to yield up their rights without a struggle, in the course of a single night transported all the tools, stones, etc., in their cambric aprons, to the spot where the Church of St. Mary now stands. Thrice did this happen before the builders gave up their intention of erecting the sacred edifice on the site first chosen.[109]

There is another story told of the fairy man who first came to Guernsey and carried away the beautiful Michelle de Garis[110] to be his wife. Though, vanquished[222] by his courtliness and grace, she was persuaded to fly with him back to fairy land, she could not quite forget the father, mother, and brothers, whom she had left behind her in their cottage down by Vazon Bay. So she begged him to let her leave them some slight token by which to remember her. He thought for a few moments, and then gave her a bulb, which he told her to plant in the sand above the bay. He then whispered to the mother where to go to find a souvenir of her missing daughter, and, when she went, weeping, to the search, she found this bulb, burst into flower, a strange odourless beautiful blossom, decked with fairy gold, and without a soul—for what is the scent but the soul of a flower—a fit emblem of a denizen of fairyland. From that time the flower has been carefully cultivated in this island, the “Amaryllis Sarniensis,” as it is called, nor will it flourish, however great the care, in any of the other islands; it pines and degenerates when removed from the soil where it was first planted by the elfin lover.[111]

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A belief in the existence of mermaids is not quite extinct, although no tales relating to them appear to have been preserved among the people. An old man, living in the parish of the Forest, of the name of Matthieu Tostevin, whose word might be implicitly relied on, affirmed to Mr. Denys Corbet, the master of the parochial school, that on one occasion, being on the cliffs over-looking Petit-Bôt Bay, he saw a company of six mermaids, or, as he termed them “seirênes,” disporting themselves on the sands below. He described them as usually depicted, half woman, half fish. He hastened down to the beach as fast as he could, to get a nearer sight of them, but, on his approaching them, they took to the sea, and were immediately out of sight.

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[225]

It was doubtless a flock of seals which he saw, for, although these animals are no longer found in numbers on our coasts, a stray one is occasionally, though very rarely, to be seen. They are known to exist on the opposite shores of Brittany and Normandy, and the few specimens that have been taken in our seas are of the same variety as those found on the French coast. It is not improbable that they may have been more common in former days; and it is possible that “Le Creux du Chien,” a large cavern at the foot of the cliffs to the eastward of Petit-Bôt Bay, may have been so named from being the resort of one of these amphibians.[112]

[226]

That singular meteor, known by the English as Jack o’Lantern or “Will o’ the Wisp,” by the French as “Feu Follet,” and by the Bretons as “Jan gant y tan” (John with the fingers or gloves of fire), bears in Guernsey the appellation of Le Faeu Bélengier—the fire of Bélenger. According to Mr. Métivier “Bélenger” is merely a slight variation of the name “Volunde” or “Velint”—Wayland, or Weyland Smith, the blacksmith of the Scandinavian gods. Bélenger was married to a Valkyrie, daughter of the Fates, so runs the old Norse legend. He was, for the sake of some treasures belonging to him, or under his guardianship, carried away by a certain king as prisoner to an island,[227] where the tyrant cut the sinews of his feet so as to prevent his running away, and then set him to work. Too clever, however, not to be able to compass his revenge, Bélenger managed to kill the two sons of the despot, and fashioned their bones into vessels for the royal table. And then, having maltreated the princess, daughter of his quondam master, he flew away through the air, and the name Bélenger has become identified in popular mythology with any especially clever worker in metals. In English popular tradition the name of Bélenger becomes contracted into Velint, or Wayland Smith, and, according to Sir Walter Scott, “this Wayland was condemned to wander, night after night, from cromlech to cromlech, and belated travellers imagined that they then beheld the fire from his forge issuing from marshes and heaths.” The natives of Iceland, descended from our own paternal ancestors of the tenth century, say still of a clever craftsman that he is a “Bélengier” in iron.

In Guernsey they say it is a spirit in pain, condemned to wander, and which seeks to deliver itself from torment by suicide.[113] Its presence is also supposed to indicate in very many cases the existence of hidden treasures, and many a countryman is known to have made a fruitless journey over bog and morass in the hope of locating the flickering flame. It is also firmly believed by all the country people that if a knife is fixed by the handle to a tree, or stuck in the earth with the point upwards, the spirit or demon that guides the flame will attack and fight with it, and that proofs of the encounter will be[228] found next morning in the drops of blood found on the blade.[114]

As we have already stated “Le Faeu Bélengier” is supposed to indicate the existence of hidden treasure, and it is well known that when treasures have been hidden for any considerable time the evil spirit acquires a property in them, and does all in his power to prevent their falling into the possession of mortals. Nevertheless the meteor-like form which the Bélengier assumes, frequently betrays their place of concealment as it plays about the spot, and if a person have sufficient courage and perseverance he may become the possessor. The wiles, however, of the demon, and his efforts to retain his own, frequently prove successful, as the following narratives will testify. It appears, however, that the guardian spirit has no power to remove the treasure, unless the adventure have first been attempted by a mortal.

A country-woman had often observed flames of fire issuing from and hovering round the earth within the threshold of her house, and, knowing well what[229] they indicated, one day, when all the other inmates of the dwelling were in the fields busied in getting in the harvest, she determined on searching for the treasure. She procured a pick-axe, closed and barred all the doors to secure herself against interruptions, and proceeded to work. She had not dug long, before a violent thunderstorm arose. Though alarmed, she continued her task, but the rain, which now began to fall in torrents, drove the field labourers to seek shelter in the house. By this time the woman had struck on a brazen pan, which, she had no doubt, covered the treasure, and was in no hurry to open to the men who were clamouring at the door for admission. She was at last obliged to yield to their entreaties, and, turning her back on the hole she had dug, unbarred the door. Her dismay was great, when, on looking back on her work, she saw the pan turned up, and the whole treasure abstracted. The demon had seized this opportunity to take possession of his own.

A man had reason to believe, from the flames which he had seen hovering about a certain spot, that a treasure was hidden there. Accordingly, one night, he took his spade and lantern and dug till he came to a large jar, which contained what appeared to him to be shells.[115] Suspecting that this might be a stratagem of the evil spirit to deter him from obtaining possession of the treasure, he carefully gathered up the whole, and took it home with him. On examining the parcel the next morning, he found[230] he had judged rightly, for the apparent shells of the preceding night had now resumed their original form of gold and silver coin.

Another man was less fortunate, for, finding nothing but what he conceived to be shells, he hesitated about removing them, and was effectually deterred by the appearance of an immense animal, resembling a black conger-eel with fiery eyes, coiled up in the hole which he had dug.[116]

The “Varou,” now almost entirely forgotten, seems to have belonged to the family of nocturnal goblins. He is allied to the “Loup-Garou” of the French, and the “Were-Wolf” of the English, if, indeed, he is not absolutely identical with them. He is believed to be endowed with a marvellous appetite, and it is still proverbially said of a great eater[231] “Il mange comme un varou.”[117]

“Aller en varouverie” was an expression used in former times in speaking of those persons who met together in unfrequented places for the purposes of debauchery or other illicit practices. Among the Acts of the Consistory of the parish of St. Martin’s, in the time when the island was still under the Presbyterian discipline, is to be found a censure on certain individuals who had been heard to say one night that the time was propitious “pour aller en varouverie sous l’épine.”

Varou was originally from the Breton Varw—“the dead”—and was identified with the “Heroes” or beatified warriors, who were, by Homer and Hesiod, supposed to be in attendance on Saturn. Guernsey, in the days of Demetrius, was known by the name of the Isle of Heroes, or of Demons, and Saturn was said to be confined there in a “golden rock,” bound by “golden chains.”

There is the “Creux des Varous,” which extends, according to tradition, from Houmet to L’Erée, and is a subterranean cavern formed of rock sprinkled with an abundance of yellow mica, which sparkles like gold; a plot of ground near the cromlech at L’Erée, known as “Le Creux des Fées,” still bears the name of “Le Camp du Varou;” and an estate in the parish of St. Saviour’s is called “Le Mont-Varou.” Old people remember that it used to be said in their youth that[232] “Le Char des Varous” was to be heard rolling over the cliffs and rocks on silver-tyred wheels, between Houmet and the Castle of Albecq, before the death of any of the great ones of the earth; and how this supernatural warning was sure to be followed almost immediately by violent storms and tempests.[118]

The 10th of January, in Roman days, was dedicated to the Fera Dea, or cruel goddess, of which Hero Dias is a literal Celtic interpretation here. She is the queen of the witches, and although Satan himself is the commander-in-chief of the witches, he has a mate who participates in his authority, and leads the dance when his votaries meet to celebrate their midnight orgies at Catioroc or Rocquaine. This is no less a personage than the dissolute and revengeful woman by whose evil counsel the holy precursor of our Saviour was put to death by Herod. To her, more particularly, is attributed the rising of sudden storms, and especially of those which take the form of a whirlwind. It sometimes happens that during the warm and sultry days of harvest a gust of wind will suddenly arise, and, whirling round the field, catch up and disperse the ears of corn which the reaper has laid in due order for the binder of the sheaves. The countryman doubts not but that this is caused by Herodias shaking her petticoats in dancing—“Ch’est la fille d’Hérode qui châque ses côtillons,”—and he loses no time in hurling his reaping hook in the direction she appears to be moving. It is said that this has[233] generally the effect of stopping the progress of the whirlwind.

These sudden gusts are locally known by the name of “héroguiâzes,” and, although there is so easy a means of dispersing them as that indicated above, the man who would venture to throw his sickle or knife at them must be endowed with no small degree of courage.[119]

This was a demon used by old Guernsey nurses to frighten their infant charges.[234] “Le Barboue t’attrappera” was quite threat enough to make the naughtiest child repent of his misdeeds. According to Mr. Métivier (See Dictionary, p. 51. Barboue), this name “Barboue” is a corruption of bared meleu, the spectre which personifies the plague among the Cymri. According to the legends, “Barbaou Hervé” was the wolf who accompanied St. Hervé, a sainted hermit of the country of Léon, 560. He was evidently related to the French “Loup-Garou.”