Cold lessons in contingency

One of the most depressing local images from the weeks before Easter was supplied by a Channel Television evening News bulletin. There, before the camera lens, gallons of crystal clear rain water were gushing past the feet of Jersey Water’s chief, Howard Snowdon, and weather presenter Sophia Bird – destined for….the sea.

My mind instantly raced forward to the prospect of summer – you know, those blisteringly balmy days with tourists thronging our hotels and beauty spots, demanding swimming pools, baths and well irrigated lawns to bask upon, and the expectation that out of the mouths of the same two commentators, will issue exhortations to conserve the precious resource lest hosepipe bans are imposed and the pound-munching desalination plant is cranked into action.

When I was a child, my grandparents lived in one of the pair of iconic little cottages on St Savour’s Road near the junction with Wellington Road. It meant that visiting them involved walking – we did that in those days – from the centre of town.

This took us along Belmont Road or Tunnell Street, past the gas holders dominating the skyline. Ugly and – we were told – dangerous because of what they contained, they nevertheless provided the mainstay of our energy consumption, and, frankly, were a feature of most towns across the country that depended on locally produced coal gas.

Then came clean air laws, the drive for fuel efficiency, the phasing out of traditional local production sources, green targets and an expensive crusade for renewable energy which has concentrated supply into the hands of manipulative companies and governments, capable of bleeding consumers dry or turning off the taps when it suits them – to say nothing of interruption from natural or technical mishap.

Indeed, energy has become one of our most significant imports, and, as the recent cold snap exposed, the UK, is perilously low on its strategic gas reserves. At the same time, for homespun economic reasons, power generating plants are being mothballed, the replacement nuclear option is stalled in red tape, and the Jeremiahs are unfurling their shrouds predicting widespread blackouts.

It is definitely a concern since in times of crisis, a similarly affected continental Europe would likely be singing from its own local priority hymn-sheet. The ageing UK power stations may not meet all the stringent new restrictions of the Brussels zealots, but there’s surely sense in maintaining a strategic generating reserve.

After all, the country does sit on a mountain of accessible coal not a sea of oil, and though all fossil fuel extraction incurs a pollution risk, there’ll be many embarrassing questions to answer if the lights do start going out. It’s the same motive that inspires the prudent to keep a few spare batteries in the garage or even a candle or six; it lies behind the rationale for the desalination plant or lifeboats on the Queen Mary II.

In times of plenty, all these concerns are academic. We know all about the theory of ‘just in time’ deliveries of essential supplies – food, fuel, let alone luxury items – to the island. It’s a policy which, given the vagaries of the weather in the Channel, epidemic or pestilence, that sends shivers down my spine.

It only needs another couple of strands to fray off the undersea cable to France for us to be plunged into darkness and the pressure for increased alternative fuel sources would create a surge in demand for more oil to run La Collette’s diesels, or another butane tanker to be chartered – all forced to plough through whatever La Manche throws at them. It wouldn’t take long for our supermarket shelves to empty either, whether or not consumers were facing actual need.

Conservation of resources when plentiful, for use when scarce is a practice which has underpinned the natural world ever since the ancestors of squirrels buried nuts. But our recent unseasonable experiences have shattered many long-held perceptions regarding our stable, temperate climate and robust bio-sufficiency, and, by all accounts, it’s a pattern likely to repeat. One immediate effect of it all is that Britain will become a net importer of wheat this year.

So, yes, a couple of new reservoirs in the deep valleys of our north coast would be prudent, because we can’t put all our eggs in the baskets of the eco-foresighted.

After all, if the States can afford to offer £4 million to rescue a threatened headland from development, it surely follows that Members could use the same wisdom to safeguard long-term population needs – and promote bio-diversity at the same time.

Despite the enterprise of our Gallic neighbours who were ready to take advantage of the tidal forces on their side of the bay of Mont St Michel, we are lagging behind any such commitment, notwithstanding the possibility of falling victim to the vanity spenders in the Sates Chamber with windmills on their minds.

So now the sun has emerged once again, we are, of course, looking forward to sunny summer days – we have a slogan to defend. It would be nice simply to sit back and let nature take its course. Easy, but dangerous. We’ve had a taste of the bitter lessons that lie ahead; ignoring them would mean flushing more than the baby away with the rainwater.