Home affair is a shade illegal

This take-it-or-leave-it philosophy has since been adopted in various situations, and none more controversial than when it comes to the implementation of planning guidelines, as the unsuspecting Constable of Grouville, Dan Murphy, discovered to his cost.

Mr Murphy decided to brighten up his imposing but rather drab-looking home at Fauvic by giving it a lick of paint in a complementary combination of muted lemon and white facing with a blue skirting border – a fairly harmless decision, one would assume, and no doubt welcomed by those who pass by as they go about their business. The now tastefully painted property, Transvaal, looks a treat. But not in the opinion of the Planning department.

Unbeknown to Mr Murphy, he should have sought planning permission, as his home is a listed building. In local planning parlance, Transvaal is a BLI (Building of Local Interest) – or, as it was in its previous appearance, building of little interest.

Having fallen foul of the Planning Law, the Constable has had to apply retrospectively, at twice the usual application fee. He has, quite rightly, held his hands up in public to this oversight. It was not as if Transvaal had been given a coat of shocking pink, lilac or the hideous combination of purple and green as others in our fair isle have chosen to make their houses stick out from the crowd. As the father of the parish is now aware, when you live in a listed building there are limits to your freedom to do as you wish with your property.

I sincerely hope that all will be well and that Transvaal will be allowed to keep its coat of simple colours. It would be a travesty if Mr Murphy were made to put it back to its original state. Those living in conservation areas like Bath, or regions of outstanding natural beauty, such as Cornwall or Brittany, understand the principle that you can paint your home whatever colour you want as long as it is white. The last thing anyone wants when enjoying a breathtaking view is a scattering of ticky-tacky bright blobs on the landscape.

The same could apply in Jersey, but whatever palette the planners decree acceptable must be applied to all buildings, not just those deemed worthy of protection by their age. Purple and green may be favourites or trendy colours, but should householders be allowed to impose their personal preferences on the unsuspecting public?

The line between planning limitations and personal choice is a fine one to tread, and one on which it is nigh impossible to reach a consensus.

At what point do planners, with the interests of a pleasant and attractive built environment at heart, assume the mantle of fashion police? No doubt the new inmates of Charlie Chuckle’s Laughter Factory will be willing to devote hour after hour debating an acceptable colour palette for Island homes as they consider every conceivable shade visible by the human eye.

The balance between personal choice and respect for society’s hard-won democratic freedoms – including, I concede, the right to paint your home whichever colour you want – was much on my mind last weekend on my return from a pilgrimage to the battlefields of the First World War. After an emotional roller-coaster of paying my respects at war cemeteries and memorials, I needed a story such as the Constable of Grouville’s to make me laugh. It would certainly have raised a few chuckles among the tommies, diggers and doughboys in the trenches of the Western Front 90 years ago.

The commemorations I witnessed in the Belgian town of Ieper (formerly Ypres) were in many ways similar to how Jersey remembers its own darkest period of history. Both communities were scarred by Occupation, yet Jersey was lucky not to suffer the total destruction of its built environment and the countryside, as those who lived in the Ypres salient so painfully did from 1914 to 1918.

Today, apart from the many cemeteries and memorials, it is impossible to imagine the utter devastation, carnage and heartbreak that the war wrought on this now peaceful and friendly corner of what was known, 90 years ago, as ‘plucky little Belgium’.

While Jersey concentrates its commemorations on Liberation Day, in Ieper remembrance is a daily ritual. Every day at 8 pm, ever since the imposing memorial to those who died there from 1914 to 1917 was dedicated in 1928, the Last Post has been sounded, with the exception of the period of German occupation of Belgium in the Second World War.

Last week’s anniversary events in Ieper were notable for a simplistic ‘people first’ approach, much like our own events to commemorate the Liberation. Instead of being held back by a ring of security, as happened in Normandy at the 60th anniversary of the D-Day landings, the crowds could get close and take part. Notwithstanding such access, there were mutterings from the thousands of assembled Brits who felt that a member of the Royal Family and a senior politician should have been there. You can’t have it both ways.

I returned home feeling even more thankful to the generation who gave their tomorrows for my today. Yet I had left Jersey saddened and disillusioned by the indifference shown by my fellow passengers on a flight to Gatwick on Remembrance Sunday. As 11 am approached, numerous public announcements were made advising that the staff would be observing the national silence and travellers were invited to join them.

Unfortunately, their good intentions fell on deaf ears. When the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month came, several people on my flight, assembled in the departure gate, continued talking. They soon ceased their idle chattering, but what shocked me was that I was the only one among a capacity passenger manifest who stood with head bowed, as I was taught to do as a child, because not to do so is an insult to the memory of the fallen.

The mothers with young children and babies could have been excused for not rising to their feet, and I could not judge the handful who were standing because all seats were taken, but the others should have known better.

I doubt if such a lack of respect would be shown in Ieper. We have a great deal to learn from those ‘plucky’ Belgians.