“Briser La Hanse.”

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.

Local Customs—Aquatic.

Vraicing.

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.

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, 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 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 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 “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.

Ormering.

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 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.

Sand-Eeling.

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, 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 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.”

Local Customs—Ceremonial.

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 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, 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 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 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 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 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 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.