Lapping up Belle Greve's explosive history

BORN in a castle. Now, few islanders can make that boast. But it's one that octogenarian George Staples, a man arguably more steeped in knowledge of 20th-century Belle Greve Bay than anyone, can put his hand on his heart and say is true.

Back in 1925, George was one of three Staples children (there were eight in total), born in the Ivy Castle, otherwise known as Chateau des Marais.

He laughs at the fact before we turn to one of the subjects most dear to him: Belle Greve, a stretch of coast he knows like the back of his big old stonemason's hands.

No sooner was he out of nappies than George was experiencing the natural delights of the controversial, oft-targeted bay.

Whether it be fishing, swimming, baiting, or simply fooling about on it, Belle Greve was a versatile playground for this burly man who, approaching his 84th birthday, still has a boat in the Pool in St Peter Port harbour and regularly scours the Bailiwick marks for the fish he loves to eat four times a week.

For 60 years he has lived, with wife Joan, within a stone's throw of the bay, in the house he built behind the Absolute End in Bouillon Lane.

His passion for the area is as strong as his grip and, not unnaturally, he was among the marchers who, a couple of years back, strode along the front to protest against Charles Billson's plans to turn the bay into a so-called 'Little Venice' off the Little Russel.

Now, that's a subject to get him going, but to suggest he is against change would be a mistake.

For a start, he has his own perfect vision of the Belle Greve he won't see in his lifetime.

That involves a road that stretches from St Sampson's to Town... 'so the bay can be flooded and allow an ormer farm'.

He seriously doubts if such a project will ever happen but the idea of a pond with minimal tide, which would cover much of the bay's unattractive black granite, is not one he baulks at.

On the question of sewage, he firsts tells a story from his childhood and addresses it seriously.

Pointing across the bay from our Salerie vantage point towards the refurbished Commerce House at Les Banques, he says: 'As young kids me and my sister Anne used to swim on the beach there. I've seen her swimming in water so full of sewage she was brushing away the stuff with her arms in the water.'

That was the early 1930s when, he says, there was more sand on Les Banques than there is today and certainly more sewage.

'We have to advance with the times and if, according to European law, we are seen to be infringing rights then we will have to do something about it.

'It should be the island's number one priority. That and waste disposal should be put above everything else, including health and building new schools.'

He does not like the incongruous Admiral Park but does admire the renovation of Commerce House, which, he recalls, was close to the 'old circus field'.

The field, he says, ran all the way back into the Bouet, a short distance from the brick chimneys which he estimates stood twice as high as those which tower over St Sampson's these days.

Much of his childhood was spent in the company of fellow Amherstian and sporting legend, Les Collins.

'Les and I used every bait patch on this beach.

And during the Occupation, the two daredevils would risk incurring the wrath of the Germans through illegal visits to the beach, which included lobbing rocks at the Teller mines.

'You weren't allowed on the beach, but kids are kids, aren't they?'

Relating such stories gives him obvious joy.

Another favourite of his is how the Germans' saltwater pool, the remnants of which can still be seen near the Longstore, failed so miserably.

'When the Germans built an electricity station in the Bouet, they also constructed a big pool to hold water when the tide went out, I suppose so they could cool the water in the electric station.'

The pool, he says, was certainly substantial, the four- to five-feet high concrete walls sticking out 100 yards or so into the bay and at least that distance across.

But no sooner was it built than the tide dropped and such was the pressure on the poorly constructed walls, with insufficient foundations, that the pool emptied itself and the structure collapsed, taking all the sand with it.

Even today, large slabs of concrete from those pool walls still lounge about fairly close to the sea wall and the remains of the filter is there, built into it.

Before entering the army, a teenaged George sought to earn a living from the bay through making salt.

'I was about 15 or 16 and I'd come down to the bay two or three times a day to get sea water and pedal it back to the Coutanchez.'

The image of a youngster transporting water on a bike takes some imagining, but George explained just how he did it.

'It was like a pair of perambulator wheels with a little truck on top of them and a crook handle which attached just under saddle of the bike.

'Bear in mind the tyres were the sort of hosepipe type because you didn't have pneumatic ones in those days.'

Didn't he spill a lot?

He described the container as a 6ft hip bath, about 15in high and 6ft long: 'The sort you used to have your bath in, in front of the fire.'

Each load was enough to fill three cast-iron copper dome-shaped bowls, which would take eight-to-10 hours to boil down – all in the quest for 4lbs of salt.

'We used to make salt for a living as there was no other way to make money in those days.'

The Longstore sea wall has always been a popular fishing spot and George again chuckles while recalling the time – and he was now living in Bouillon Lane – he caught two huge bass off it.

Children had alerted him to the fact that there was a shoal of big fish over the wall.

His lack of bait was solved by Percy Bougourd's offer of the guts from a freshly-caught mackerel and no sooner had his line hit the water than George was reeling in a 10-and-a-half pounder, to be followed minutes later by a 10-and-a-quarter pounder.

His recollections stretch far enough back to recall sea breaking over the tram as he travelled towards St Sampson's.

Spur Point is an area he would happily see developed, but other than that and his dream road, he hopes future generations will leave Belle Greve well alone.

'It's nature as it is meant to be. People may say it's ugly at low tide, but I don't think it's ugly at all.

'It's got its compensatory factors and what better vista could you have than to look out across to the islands.'