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| Journal - |
| May 26th, 2005 > erections, feeling liberated, Puffins |
| Early morning and all is quiet on the site. Campers have yet to rise, and I enjoy this moment to listen to the news on the radio and finish a coffee. I need to be here now, before the rush hour. To see what, if any, surprises lay in wait from the night before. The first boat of the day will arrive with annoying punctuality in an hour, so the clock is ticking to begin the days work. It would be quite wrong to cultivate the illusion that my job is all glamour. The fact that I am a seasonal worker denotes, and I have no doubt this is the case with all seasonal work, there will always be a level of undesirable jobs to be done. Enter the campsite warden. The shower and toilet block is my domain. I can be found stalking around my territory at this time, dishing out suitably sinister looks to anyone who tramples grass onto the clean floor. Woe betide any early risers who should dare to actually want to use my clean showers. It’s not all that bad. The block is well designed for an efficient wash down, and the use of a power washer and various other fancy tools means contact with anything remotely nasty is minimal. Large amounts of sweet smelling pine disinfectant also go a long way in easing the pain. I believe it’s a job everyone should try once; where ever I go in the future, I’ll always remember that I have done my time on this essential duty. And whenever I am using public facilities, I’ll never forget that somebody has to clean them. We have taken delivery of our campsite assistant, Wil from South Africa. He has come here with his partner, Lindie, who works in house keeping. So, our two strong team has, weather permitting, been busy learning the fine art of tent erection. We’ve got rather good at it – a basic frame with outers pegged including guy ropes in around half an hour on average. Wind has been the main climatical theme for the week, there has been quite a bit of it about. This has added an interesting dimension to the whole process, and not an altogether welcome one. During the worst of the changeable weather, we work back along the tents already up and fit them out with ground sheets and various other attachments. This process plays havoc with my aging knees, and I am on the lookout for a pair of trendy skate-boarder’s pads. |
| 1. Name: 2. From: 3. Age: 4. Why Herm? 5. How do you fill your day? 6. Best party trick, or special talent? 7. Herm veteran or Herm virgin? 8. Favourite place on the island? 9. Porn Star Name? (first pet name & mothers maiden name) 10. Where do you go from here? |
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| click logo to visit Herm |
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| click logo to visit Herm |
| Contact me like this: |
| Snail Mail - Timo (campsite warden), Administration office, Herm, Guernsey, Channel Islands, UK |
| mobile sms - UK 07781 437 481 International +44 7781 437 481 |
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| Willie Janse Van Vuuren (Wil) central SA, Christiana, east of Kimberly 22 Great place to start working holiday campsite assistant (Timo's bitch) I make excellent animal noises! Virgin I love the beaches! Babber Van Heerdin I'm going off to the UK next, to find work! |
| People Profile |
| And a little noisy in this case. The island is completely self sufficient in generating its own electricity. Requirements are relatively low, as many essential appliances use gas, hotel rooms have no television and you won’t find a single electric kettle anywhere. None the less, tourists insist on lights and the camp warden needs his music, and so it’s the job of the two island engineers to ensure a smooth and uninterrupted power supply. This is achieved in the tiny powerhouse, where three gen-sets rumble away day and night, sharing the load between them. From his computer in the workshop, first engineer Simon can fully operate the generators. He can shut them down or start them up, make adjustments and monitor demand and output both for the present and historically. The three sets have a combined output of around 250 Kw, ample for today as I chat with Simon - at this moment demand is only 60 Kw. Most problems with the power supply develop from the old cables which deliver the power - which is why power usage on the island is minimized. Located on a popular walk that crosses the island, the powerhouse, like tractors, is a source of wonder to many tourists. Every day I pass a small group assembled outside the building, but this time I share their appreciation, because electricity is something we all depend upon but seldom bother to think about from whence it came. As is the theme with this series, the powerhouse demonstrates just another aspect of life here in comparison to something we usually overlook at home. |
| Small is Beautiful |
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| Really, Guernsey is the island that steals most of the news this time around. On May 9th she, along with the rest of the Channel Islands, celebrated the 60th anniversary of liberation from their Nazi occupiers. These islands became the only British soil the invaders would make it to, early in the war and thus begun five years of rule under the Germans. It’s an important day for many people, and a national bank holiday that brings a large slice of the population into town for a jolly good knees up. I was last here for the 50th and so it seemed fitting to put in an appearance this time. Understandably, Herm was devoid of any significant tourist activity, and so I was able to slip away for a few hours during the afternoon. An exceptionally low tide prevented the ferry from following the usual channel away from the low water landing; and so our extended trip around the back of nearby Jethou Island into deep water gave us the opportunity to enjoy the warm weather out on deck, and to look out for nesting Puffin birds amid the jagged cliffs. Arriving in Guernsey just in time to miss Her Majesty the Queen doing a drive by, several friends and I found ourselves with the troubling problem of crossing the main thoroughfare from harbour to watering hole. On our extended walk to find a crossing point, we witnessed the cavalcade of assorted second world war military vehicles, army, navy and air-force personnel marching to the brass band and many decorated floats with a 1940’s theme. I had to do a double take as a very realistic Winston Churchill complete with cigar cruised by in an old open top car. There was also an air display that included a fly past by world famous Red Arrows along with the beautiful memorial flight – a Lancaster bomber in formation with a Spitfire and Hurricane fighter on each wing-tip. Probably the story with the most “Ahhhhhh” value is the return of a large Union Jack flag. At the onset of occupation in 1940, sailor Erwin Hausler, aboard one of the first German ships to arrive in St. Peter Port harbour took down the flag as a trophy, as was so often standard practice. Sixty years on it has been returned, Erwin always insisting it should be repatriated. It arrived by sea, as it had left all that time ago. Eighteen months in the planning, the celebrations seemed to be enjoyed by all. Roads had been closed to traffic, with the exception of the occasional tank; buildings were decorated with bunting and from every available point hung a basket of colourful flowers. The usual car parking areas on the various piers now played host to an assortment of entertainments; the popular fairground, craft stalls, hawker food, beer tents and a particular favourite – crown and anchor stalls. To my knowledge, this is a local gambling game to be found nowhere else. Suitably for me, it’s a simple game that involves six squares each with a different picture on it. A crown, an anchor, a club and so on. The player places a wager of any size on his or her chosen square and three dice marked with the same symbols are thrown. The odds are good, with the opportunity to double or treble the wager – or in my case to loose the wager altogether. But the real fun comes from soaking up the atmosphere from a dozen or so of these stalls in a row. Each dealer tries harder than the next to attract the punters, and each has his own lively rap to entertain players and onlookers alike. I remember as a kid looking on in awe at the piles of crisp clean bank notes in front of the dealer, and the thrill when somebody won a large payout. All good clean fun – at least, much more responsible than the ensuing evening as we missed the last boat back and thus had no option but to spend a long night on the town. Regrouping for the early morning ferry the following day, in various states of repair, but mostly bad, we agreed a night in the clubs was a welcome change from tranquil Herm. The gradual arrival of more tourists has brought a greater variety of people. An interesting variation on the road blocking tractor enthusiasts, covered recently, is the roadrunners. They plummet into a mild state of panic on hearing an approaching tractor, even when some considerable distance away. Initially, they flee for the hedges and disappear from view altogether. Loosing their nerve at the last moment, they re-emerge to set off up the track at an uncomfortable looking pace somewhere between a fast walk and a trot, constantly looking back to ensure I am not deliberately trying to run them down. We must assume that the roadrunners are from an island even smaller than Herm, and have never seen a tractor before. The thing is, they are difficult to catch to find out. |
| I was lucky enough to be asked to crew on one of Adrian’s Puffin spotting trips. This mainly involves assisting little old ladies aboard and throwing ropes about in a manner that makes me look vaguely like I know what I am actually doing. The bonus is (apart from escaping real work for a couple of hours), I get to ask Adrian a range of questions be it about the private life of a Puffin or what the little computer screen on the instrument panel is telling us. After a routine check to ensure all aboard were actually on the Puffin trip, rather than stray tourists thinking they were on the next ferry to somewhere (apparently it does happen) – we departed Herm harbour. Comfortably seated in the co-pilots chair, all manner of dials and tempting buttons before me and feeling rather important, Adrian explained the course; “head for the orange beacon, about 30 yards to the right, continue on then turn south east for that rock off Jethou Island”. He disappeared out on deck to talk with the punters, and I am suddenly at the helm. “Oh, and watch your distance from the beacon, there’s a reef either side”. Sheesh! This is the largest boat I have ever steered – in fact, it’s the only boat I have ever steered to be more accurate, unless you take into account a sea kayak. Resisting the temptation to throw both throttles forward and loose the pensioners off the back, we chugged along to our first point of interest, the small channel between Herm and neighbouring Jethou Island. Having run out of orders I continued on a direct course towards the rocks, at which point Adrian thankfully wrestled back the controls. Here we paused to admire some of the bird life; Razor Bills, the fantastically named Shag (very similar to the Cormorant) and my favourite, Oyster Catchers. We all enjoyed an interesting talk on Jethou, a tiny island owned by the Crown and privately leased to a businessmen who calls this home. Our efforts to head across open sea for Sark were thwarted by uncomfortably high waves, instead we picked our way along the jagged south eastern coast of Herm itself, in the shelter of the various inlets, to inspect more Puffin nesting sites. These beautiful little sea birds, currently nesting in their burrows, face a challenging future in many parts of the Channel Islands as predators such as Gulls and Rats pick off the bounty of eggs and chicks. However, Adrian is certain that in this area at least, numbers are being successfully maintained. |
| Puffin Trip |
| hover over any image for description, click to enlarge! How good is that? |
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| Wil |
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| Even though the weather has still been annoyingly changeable (that’s polite speak for shitty), the impending influx of visitors is now inevitable. The end of May holiday, which includes half term for school kids is traditionally the first really busy weekend of the season. No longer will visitor numbers be directly dependant on the weather on any given day; everything is booked up and these people are coming regardless. Wil & I are thoroughly proud of our erections, just under twenty this week (look, there had to be an erection pun somewhere), we are ready! A glance at the arrivals & departures printout for the coming fourteen days confirms we are in for a hectic time. Expect the next journal to include tales of lost baggage, miss-behaving children and un-identifiable objects in the showers. |
| Herm Powerhouse |
| Simon adjusts one of the gensets |
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| Puffin |