The Occupation Tapestry was officially opened on 9th May 1995, the 50th anniversary of the Island’s first Liberation Day, the reclaiming of the Island by British troops from the Nazis who had control for five long years.
With the original concept and design by local artist Wayne Audrain, the Tapestry consists of 12 panels, each panel stitched by teams from each of the Island’s 12 parishes. Many of the stitchers remembered the Occupation years very well. But also, there was an opportunity for others to add a stitch or two, making it a true community undertaking. Of course, many of the stitchers are no longer with us.
The Tapestry is housed within the Maritime Museum building at St Helier Harbour. Each of the 12 panels has an interactive and multi-lingual screen guide. For the 30th anniversary of the original opening a 13th panel was added. And, most recently, a new generation were able to focus on these events as they worked on acrylic reproductions of each of the panels.
Here are just a few of the panels but the Tapestry can only be fully appreciated by visiting the original.
Outbreak of war – Parish of TrinityInteractive screen for the previous panelEarly days of Occupation – Parish of GrouvilleGovernment – Parish of St BreladeAcrylic reworking of previous panelSent overseas, the deportations – Parish of St MaryBypassed (D-Day) – Parish of St JohnRed Cross – Parish of St MartinLiberation – Parish of St Clement
A bit like a man trying to cling to a precipice by his fingernails, grim determination finally gave way to reality during 2025. I fell. However I luckily tumbled into a lot of bushes and brushwood and I find I’m still alive. Slower, but still moving in a forward direction.
The reality came at the beginning of September during the Jersey Spartan Half-Marathon. The first few miles of this course are tough enough, especially when one is attacking the race. The difference this time though was that, at the first water stop, I found I couldn’t continue. I was done. I trotted slowly homewards with a lot of thinking to be done.
I’m 72, 73 in February. Until recently I still had time targets – 5k – 24mins, 10k – 50mins. I wasn’t hitting the targets but in my head they were attainable. No longer. I think I’ve finally found peace with the understanding that I can continue to enjoy my running and racing only if I’m able to ditch any aspirations to old targets. And so it shall be.
I ran 1566km in 2025 (1793 in 2024, 2237 in 2023). That tells a story. Fewer training runs of shorter duration. Not laziness but my body telling me that I can no longer do more than this without adverse consequences.
I’m still generally in very good health though I could always benefit from losing a few kgs. I did however (unusually) pick up an injury during the year, a pulled hamstring which put me out of action for a few weeks. Happily I’ve fully recovered.
Struggling in the 10-miler
I continue to do plenty of local races. In addition I’ve registered for parkrun, the amazing community event – now spreading worldwide – which takes place every Saturday morning when everyone runs or walks 5k without pressure with the results email awaiting you when you get back home. Jersey parkrun regularly attracts 300 – 400 participants (more in the summer season) and there’s a great vibe.
So now to a review of the year’s races – not particularly pretty viewing.
19 Jan – Sorel 10k 52.51 (34th out of 48, but 15th age-grade) 2 Feb – Spartan 10-mile 88.30, 68th out of 85. 2 March – Spartan 8k 41.03, 26th out of 34. 11 March – Spartan 5k 25.13 23 March – Jersey Hospice Half 1:56.40, 422nd out of 763, third M70. 13 April – Spartan Spring 10k 53.57 (59th out of 79 but 29th age-grade) 9 May – Spartan 5k 25.49 (76th out of 103, but 35th age-grade) 27 May – Spartan 8k 43.55 (hamstring) 8 June – Cannacord Half M, (dnf, hamstring) 14 Aug – Hamptonne 10k 56.01 – return from injury 31 Aug – Jayson Lee 10k, 53.08 7 Sept – Spartan Half dnf 23 Sept – Spartan 5k 26.08 (41st out of 55 but 18th age-grade) 28 Oct – Spartan 5k 26.52 22 Nov – Parkrun #1 (5k) 28.27 30 Nov – Durrell Dash (approx 11.6k) 68.42 (173rd out of 258) 7 Dec – Frubbs 10-mile 1:40.52 20 Dec – Parkrun #2 27.14 26 Dec – Spartan 10k 54.04 (88th out of 137 but 31st age-grade) 27 Dec – Parkrun #3 28.15 27 Dec – Bouley Bay Hill Climb 11.17
Postscript added 2 Jan ’26 – The Missing Glove A few of us headed out on the morning of New Year’s Eve for a run/jog/walk, reconvening for coffee at The Breakwater Cafe, St Catherine on Jersey’s east coast. Then, the following morning there was an additional Jersey Parkrun to welcome in 2026 – the usual sizeable crowd lined up for the start. A fellow runner, a young lady, edged up to me as we waited, she said, “Excuse me, did you drop a glove at St Catherine yesterday?” Now, I’d been unable to locate a second glove that morning and, thinking little of it, I’d taken a spare pair to run in (chilly morning). So I replied, “Yes I might have, but how…?” She said, “I ran past you yesterday, you’re wearing the same top. I left the glove on top of a bollard there.” Long story short, after parkrun I drove back to St Catherine and there was my glove, on top of a bollard.
So what, I hear you cry. Well, there’s a coincidence for a start, this woman lining up alongside me, never mind recognising me from a brief run-by the day before (I could pretend she could hardly forget my handsomeness and magnetism, but I doubt that). But above all, how did she connect me with the glove she happened to pick up outside the cafe?
“There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy” (Shakespeare’s Hamlet).
I don’t read as much as a lot of people – generally an hour before bed works for me. So 40 or so this year excluding one or two turkeys abandoned early on.
There are certain truisms when it comes to selecting and reading fiction, amongst those being
The most heavily plugged and promoted authors rarely live up to their marketing
Even the best writers can’t excel every time
In what is a hopelessly overcrowded market there are still gems to be found amongst the mediocrity
My book of the year? Emphatically Matt Haig’s The Midnight Library.
Best newly discovered writer – Andrew Lowe.
My top three go-to authors – Sharon Bolton, Kate Atkinson, Ciara Geraghty.
Anyone match with any of the below? And please readers, always try and leave a rating, and maybe a short review after you’ve read a book – Goodreads or Amazon. Writers of all standards deserve that.
Forgotten in the mists of time It’s strange but it is true They said, “Let’s start a running club, We’ve sod all else to do.” Though Annabel and Fifi said “But one and one makes two
“There really aren’t enough of us To make it worth our while If we think hard I’m sure we can Get others for a trial They must be free on Fridays and Be sure to make us smile.”
And so the word it got about They didn’t have to try The applications flooded in And they both wondered why “We must be super popular The limit is the sky
“We must be careful with our picks,” They both quite rightly said “We don’t want racers or fast peeps Or any thoroughbred It’s all about the coffee And fresh air to clear the head.”
And so there is a motley crew Who gently run today Just two or three or maybe more If it’s a holiday They always stop and wait for those Who might have gone astray
There’s Kerry and there’s Janice too And Jean, Pauline and Clare And Barb’ra who they say was good At some time way back there And Tracey who keeps bouncing back With spirit that’s so rare
So if you see them on the road When on their merry way Just step aside and let them pass And give a loud hurray They’re headed to the coffee shop Which is so far away
OK I’m getting the hang of this science lark. Having demonstrated my mastery of quantum physics in my previous post, here I present some archaeology theory. This comes after having watched many episodes of Time Team with Tony Robinson, and a few YouTube videos.
I’m going to look at a few archaeological mysteries and propose answers – the mysteries are many and credible answers appear to me to be few. Rather than solve all the mysteries I’ll leave some for others to look at. Here are three of my faves.
Stonehenge, England. It’s some manner of burial/ceremonial setup, no one is quite sure. It’s about 5000 years old. In my day you could walk among the stones but these days you need to pay to see it in the distance from the Visitor Centre – £30 adults, £20 children plus a parking fee. Tip – just drive along the A360 for free and turn your head (unless you’re driving of course).
The main mystery is how did the massive stones arrive on site. They weigh up to 30 tons. The sarsens are the largest and originated in Marlborough Downs, about 20 miles away. The smaller ones, the bluestones, come from the Preseli Hills in Wales, over 150 miles away. More recently there are indications that one or two originated to the north of Scotland.
Traditionally, schoolkids were told that the stones were dragged on rollers or sleds. Really? Did the teachers ever work out the logistics of doing this? No, it’s because they had to tell the kids something. But also, did they really cut and shape the huge stones with primitive flint tools?
Diquis Stone Spheres Some 300 petrospheres of various sizes to be found in Costa Rica. Their purpose or meaning is unknown. The largest of them is over two metres in diameter and weighs 15 tons, though some are smaller. They date back to 600BCE. Unlike the Stonehenge stones they don’t appear to have travelled great distances. They are said to have been made by hammering boulders with other stones. But exactly how did a primitive race produce such precise work?
Baalbek Stones, Lebanon My favourite. A collection of six massive stones dating back to the Byzantine period or before. Particularly the Trilithon, three blocks 22 metres long, five metres high and 3.5 metres wide. Each of the three blocks is estimated to weigh between 1000 and 2000 tons. And more to this, they are fitted together perfectly, carved to perfection. Though they have moved no great distance from the quarry, the sheer weight and craftsmanship would seem to make it impossible to replicate by modern means.
Stop Press – Caverns Under the Pyramids of Giza So the Pyramids as they appear above ground present mysteries which have been studied for many decades. Now we have claims of underground structures, even a city, accessed by cylindrical shafts. Egyptologists are in a spin – it remains to be seen what transpires over the next few years.
My answer Come on, are archaeologists still determined to stick to the belief that primitive man had the time, inclination and ability – personal and collective, to produce these wonders? Stone axes used by Neolithic people created huge and precise carved monoliths, spheres, walls? Hundreds of men, women and children spent their days pulling and shoving stones miles from place to place instead of hunting for food? Come off it.
A lost and advanced civilisation? Certainly more likely than the paragraph above. But then why, through five great extinctions, have we found no sign of them – their writings, their tools, anything? I think not.
No one proposes aliens. Certainly no archaeologist or researcher who wants to be taken seriously or who is looking for funding from universities, foundations etc. OK I know they were meant to come and visit us during 2025 (ufologists said so) but maybe it’ll be next year. So I’m in the ‘it was aliens’ camp. Mark my words.
I was always hopeless at Science – the various sciences. At school we’d be taught Physics, Chemistry and Biology. It was all alike to me, bemusement. Sure, I and my school chums would sit in front of blackboards and text books, listening and writing stuff down. Occasionally we’d brighten up if we had an ‘experiment’ to do that day – something in a test tube perhaps, preferably fizzing or smoking alarmingly. In Biology we dissected a bull’s eye one time, and that remains the one thing I remember about the subject.
This was a ‘good’ grammar school, but it’s a holy wonder that I attained the minimum standard to constitute a pass in the subjects – how poor must the fails have been? Little of what we were taught seemed to relate to the reality we lived outside the school walls. As to Maths, we’d spend hours and weeks working out trigonometry answers from tables in little books – sine, cosine, tangent. To this day I have no clue what any of it meant, or what use trigonometry is in daily life. [Edit: I have since learned that indeed trigonometry has multiple practical applications. Had this been explained and described at the time, had we been presented with examples, then maybe we’d have understood a bit better.]
So yeah, even basic science is a foreign land to me. So you can imagine my level of understanding of quantum physics …”the fundamental science of matter and energy at the atomic and subatomic levels…”
But, dear reader, I have been saved. I’ve read Matt Haig’s The Midnight Library. Now I could stand up and give a lecture about the Multiversewhere there are an infinite number of parallel universes existing right now alongside our own. And some of which Nora Seed, the main character, gets the chance to visit and live awhile. The author creates a scenario, a near-death experience, where Nora has chosen death as a way out of deep depression. However she never quite makes it to the afterlife like ordinary souls, but gets a second chance and a choice of alternative lives from the one she has rejected.
Nora, through her experiences in thousands of different lives, learns enough to want to give her root life another try and, in Nora’s words, “She didn’t want to die. And she didn’t want to live any other life than the one which was hers. The one that could be a messy struggle but it was her messy struggle. A beautiful messy struggle.”
Over the last year or two my race time targets have remained unchanged i.e. 5k – 24mins, 10k – 50mins, half-marathon – two hours. The reality is that I have not hit those 5k and 10k times for quite a while. My approach has remained the same in that I’ll start off at a good lick and try to hang on to the pace throughout. That is hard work but it has served me well in the past. Now it wasn’t working and, despite leaving nothing of myself out there on the road, my times were getting slower.
That is of course inevitable at age 72 but I’ve been stubborn in my belief that I could still attack those times. In the process I was losing the enjoyment in the whole thing.
The pivotal point came last month when I dropped out at an early stage of the Jersey Half-Marathon. The first 4-5 miles are pretty tough going but nothing I haven’t dealt with before. At the first water stop I sat on the wall and unpinned my race number. I couldn’t continue. Yes I’d gone off too fast. (But also, subsequent research told me that I’d probably only recovered 80% from a hard 10k race the week before whereas a younger runner would be 100% recovered.)
So after a few beers that evening I came to a decision. I’d throw away time targets. I’d start races easier, regardless of what everyone else was doing. Instead of packing in running (as many do at a much younger age) I’d accept that I’m getting slower but that I’d do so smiling. And yes, I’d still wear the watch but only look at it with mild interest.
In this way I hope to prolong my running for a year or two more, injuries permitting. I’ll still be part of the community of runners both at race level but also with the ‘no coffee no run’ gang I hang out with for social jogs.
A pretty random post this – just to capture a memory while it still remains.
After my schooldays I played football (i.e. soccer) for the school’s former pupils team – St Philip’s Grammar School Old Boys – SPGSOB. We had four teams playing in a local league – I can’t have been too bad of a player as I progressed quickly from the fourth XI to the first XI. I was a goalkeeper but preferred to play outfield. At the time of this story I actually captained the first team. This was all around 1976, the year before I left Birmingham to live and work in Jersey.
One Saturday we played old rivals Handsworth Grammar School Old Boys at their posh ground. We lost 0-5, a humiliation. We were drawn to play them again the following week in the semi-final of a big cup competition, at our lowly ground in Gospel Lane. In the bar after the first match it was suggested that the semi-final be switched to their, much better, ground. As captain I refused, saying they always made monkeys of us on their home turf.
The following Saturday we beat them 4-2 in the semi-final. I scored I think.
Upon which I retired from football – at age 23. Before the final, which the lads won. To this day I have no idea what was going through my head to do such a thing. I never played another competitive match.
I’ve always been a bus person. Just this afternoon I tapped my old person’s bus pass on the machine next to the driver, whose comfortable single-decker vehicle then quickly whisked me and a few others around the coast road townwards from Gorey Harbour to Greve d’Azette, my day’s work on the desk at Mont Orgueil Castle done.
From age two I lived in Sheldon in the Birmingham suburbs, conveniently on the main Coventry to Birmingham road, about five miles outside the city centre. We never owned a car. Accordingly it became a regular pilgrimage, catching the no.58 or no.60 from the nearby bus stop into town. Aways a yellow Birmingham Corporation bus, those which operated within the city boundaries. Their red counterparts of the Midland Red were somehow superior, running to mythical places further out in the country. Always the buses were double-deckers, such was the level of demand back in the 50s/60s when car ownership was far from universal.
Almost always I’d be with Mam. “One and a child to town, please,” she’d say to the conductor or conductress holding out a shilling or so. Tout suite the conductor would conjure tickets from his/her machine which was strapped over the shoulder, handing them over with any change due. Downstairs and upstairs the conductor would march tirelessly, squeezing past standing passengers (the buses were always full, at least in my memory). Fare dodging just wasn’t a thing back then though it would have been easy.
As well as collecting fares, the conductor was in contact with the driver by means of a bell operated by wires running the length of the bus. If passengers wished to alight at the next stop the conductor would ring once and the driver would pull up. When all had disembarked and any new passengers hopped aboard, a double ring signalled the driver to set off again.
What amazes me many years later was the lack of safety. The exit platform was at the back left, with no door – just an upright pole. If you intended to alight, you’d get up from your seat and stand on the platform as the bus whizzed along, around corners, everything. Us kids would hang on to the pole and lean out gleefully as the bus swung along around corners and everything. If it suited us, and the bus slowed a bit, we’d jump off before our stop. No one seemed to care, least of all driver or conductor. That was the way it was.
Oh, and us kids never failed to give up our seat for a woman, young or old. It was just natural and drummed into us.
From age 11 this Sheldon – City Centre trip became a daily trip for me as my new school lay on the other side of town. Also, my lifelong team Birmingham City played (and still do) along the route of the no.58 /60.
Compare now, when the driver collects the fare, usually by the passenger tapping a card on entry. The driver waits until the passenger sits down before starting. The conductor is long extinct and it is up to you, the passenger, to ring the bell to get off. And the modern thing is to remain in one’s seat until the bus stops, like on an airplane. I and other oldsters don’t – out of ingrained habit we’ll get up and wait behind the driver until he opens the door. And, universally, the alighting passengers will thank the driver.
I’d like to have one last go at swinging out into space from that pole, egged out by my mates.
In the summer I do a bit of officiating for our local athletics club, Jersey Spartans. Timekeeper is one of several roles which I’m qualified in. Accordingly I own a few basic stopwatches – one to use, others to lend out or to use as spares. Then I thought I’d like to own a proper all-singing all-dancing one. Accordingly I forked out £100+ on a top-of-the-range solar-powered watch. I put them all away.
A couple of weeks back I was tasked with leading a team of back-up timekeepers at our annual Jersey Marathon. But, though I searched high and low in my compact little apartment I couldn’t find the watches anywhere. Flustered, I managed to beg and borrow sufficient to do the job on the day.
A few days later I splashed out again – a replacement for the good one and four basic ones. I just went to put them away safely in an empty Heroes tin. Guess what was in the ’empty’ tin.
