Sark, an island that still has a lord of the manor

Press, 21 April 1986, Page 19

Sark, an island that still has a lord of the manor

By

MARTIN NESIRKY

NZPA-Reuter Sark Lashed by storms in winter and flooded with tourists in summer, this tiny craggy island still survives as a relic of feudalism with a lord of the manor, strange customs, and no cars or income tax.

"It is the ultimate civilisation,” said one man who moved to Sark, in the Channel Islands, from London 15 years ago. Sark, just 4.Bkm long and 2.4 km wide, rises spectacularly out of the English Channel off the French Normandy coast and near the larger taxhaven islands of Guernsey and Jersey. The 100 m cliffs look impregnable from the sea and the island uninhabited. But two tunnels lead from the tiny harbour through the rock to the fertile interior. Like the other Channel Islands, Sark owes allegiance to the Queen, but is not a part of the United Kingdom and has wide powers to conduct its own home affairs. Sark’s 500 people are governed by the Seigneur,

a feudal baron with privileges dating back to 1565 when Queen Elizabeth I let a Jerseyman, Helier de Carteret, and 40 men settle there. Since then some of the Seigneur’s more obscure rights have lapsed but the present incumbent, Michael Beaumont, retains several, ge is still the only person allowed to keep a bitch, pigeons or doves, and he can deport undesirables. Mr Beaumont also collects a nominal tax on chimneys, once payable in live chickens. He now accepts cash. More significantly, he can veto requests to buy any of the 40 original holdings or tenements and he pockets a thirteenth of property purchase prices on Sark, idyllic home to an increasing number of expatriate Britons seeking tax-free retirement and milder climes.

House prices have risen beyond the reach of most native islanders. Three houses sold together recently fetched £280,000 ($739,000).

The islanders have largely abandoned farm-

ing and fishing in the clear but unpredictable waters in favour of the booming tourist trade. During the summer season, which runs from May to early October, they brace themselves daily for up to 1000 visitors who swarm over from Jersey, Guernsey and France to explore rock pools and caves, and flower-lined tracks free of all motorised traffic except' tractors. They also savour beer and cigarettes at almost half the mainland price.

“We are reliant on tourism, so you cram in as much as you can in the season,” John Hamon, the island’s Greffier or clerk, told Reuters in his small white-washed office. “It is an invasion, but it is not so bad because they (the tourists) all seem to disappear down the lanes within minutes of arriving,” joked his son, Trevor, working at transferring Sark records on to his home computer. Holidaymakers soon find the sights, including the awesome Coupee — a narrow causeway that runs along a knife-edge

ridge linking the main island with Little Sark. On either side, waves crash on to rocks 78m below.

Before railings were fitted at the turn of the century, children crawled across in blustery weather to get to school. Last year 59,760 adult visitors came to Sark, each paying 45p ($1.18) landing tax. This year it will be 50p ($1.32). Add to this the impot or tax collected on alcohol and tobacco and it is easy to see why the island’s bank balance stays in the black. Last year the island raised £65,909 ($174,000) through impot, the Treasurer, Mr Michael Terry, said. Mr Terry, who manages one of the two banks, said estimated 1986 income was £137,380 ($363,000). There is no income tax, so Sark gets no revenue from offshore banking. Islanders have no official social security or free medical care. In winter, locals live off summer earnings or tighten their belts, making occasional forays to Guernsey when sea conditions permit.

Tourism, which took off after the Channel Islands were liberated from the Germans at the end of World War 11, has clearly brought prosperity to

many. A recent British television series set in Sark, "Mr Pye,” has prompted even more holiday inquiries than usual, one hotelier said. But as the message spreads, old Sark ways are gradually undermined. For instance, only a few older islanders speak the Norman-French patois, the main language up to the 19205. “I doubt you will find anyone under 30 who can speak it fluently,” lamented one middle-aged resident. Intermarriage with non-Sarkese would eventually kill the unwritten language. Old songs and dances are remembered but seldom performed. For all the changes, the fabric of feudal society remains. The 40 original holdings still exist and each tenant has a place in the island Parliament, the Chief Pleas, which meets in the senior school. Nowadays, 12 elected deputies join the tenants to represent other islanders.

There are no plans to introduce the motor car or an airport. Local officials play on the anachronisms and say the “Mainland” — Britain — could learn from Sark’s method of dispensing jus-

tice. A bleak two-cell jail built in 1856 with no windows awaits offenders. One man who arrived for a holiday job at one of the seven hotels last year and embarked on a burglary spree soon wound up there on bread and water for two days until he appeared before the Seneschal, the Parliament

president and magistrate. “He went a funny colour when he was given a month (in prison). He thought he would be back in that little cell,” recalled the Greffier’s son. Luckily for the thief, terms over two days are spent across the water in the relative comfort of Guernsey’s large prison.