Bailing-out the bailiwick

Or, hiding in the shruggery

Those who dwell to the north of Hadrian’s Wall have somehow accreted to themselves a reputation for parsimony, but while the Scots might be a wee bit careful with their money, to my mind, they are far outshone in their pecuniary rapacity by those who live at the other end of the British Isles.

Suze and I have just returned from spending the best part of a week on Guernsey in the Channel Islands, with day trips to the nearby islands of Sark and Herm, and we had a terrific time, notwithstanding the revenue-raising antics of the bailiwick’s officials at the airport.

You see, visitors to the Channel Islands must not only show proof of being double vaccinated against Covid 19 but they are also obliged to self-test, using rapid flow tests, every 48 hours while they are on the islands. “Fair enough, no great burden,” you might say. “I’ll pop down to the chemists before I go and pick up some tests which are free of charge on the NHS”. But once you land at one of the tax haven’s airports, the islands’ bureaucrats bare their teeth: while their website merely “invites” travellers to purchase a set of tests, the airport officials insist that you do so; you are not allowed to leave the airport without having shelled-out £25 each for tests you don’t need because you’ve already got packs of them in your luggage.

“Your website says, ‘would you like to purchase a set of tests?’,” I protested unavailingly. “That implies that one has an option.” An unapologetic shrug was all the response I got.

Still, the Guernseyites are not enjoying the best of times at present; they have been badly bitten by Brexit and find it almost impossible to recruit staff for their hospitality services which are the bailiwick’s main industry after tax-evasion. All the hotels are operating at about one-quarter capacity and restaurants and cafés are often closed outside peak times. Well, some of us could see that coming a mile off.

Their fishing fleet is struggling too, and again because of Brexit. I got talking with a fisherman over a pint of Monty’s in the Tax Dodgers’ Arms and he told me that, before Britain left the EU, the islands’ fishermen had sold most of their catch to France; a closer market, prompt payment and the French would buy fish that there was little demand for in the UK. In addition, there had been a strong spirit of co-operation between the fisherfolk of both nations. “All that’s finished now,” he said with what I can only describe as a gallic shrug.

I found it strange that everyone on Guernsey speaks English but all the place names and street names are French. They also seem perversely pleased with their period of German occupation, and stories abound about how well the German forces behaved while they were there. I asked the fishermen if the French evinced any resentment at having these little enclaves of Britishness just off their coast. Another shrug.

Still, Guernsey ice cream is as creamy as ever, the fudge is still scrummy, and the crab sandwiches are fruits de mer non pareil.

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