Imagine a crowd of more than a thousand boisterous, shouting, drinking, intimidating disenfranchised people, one half insulting the other and all hurling abuse or encouragement at respectable pillars of the community who are exercising their constitutional rights.
Not Russia but Trinity
A scene reminiscent of revolutionary Russia, you might think, or maybe a modern football match. Not at all; this crowd is not baying for change nor is it threatening violence. What we have here is a typical Constable's election in Trinity during the early part of the 19th century when voting rights were restricted to the few, and factional politics was rife
In 1818, 252 of the 325 eligible voters in Trinity braved the noise and crush to openly (no secret ballot then) cast their vote when Charles Larbalastier defeated Philip Le Maistre, even though it is estimated that many of the other 1,500 or so parishioners, who did not have voting rights, were to some degree 'involved in the election'.
These two candidates represented two different political affinities and the huge crowds that massed on election day reflected that division.
It is probably incorrect to say that there were two political 'parties' in the modern sense, because politically there was not much to choose between the two sides. Both were staunch supporters of Jersey's independence and way of life but the rivalry was no less fierce for all that.
So what did separate them, why did it generate such fervour and what effect did it have on parish life?
Just like the man laughing uproariously, who, when asked what he was laughing at, said: 'I can't remember but it was very funny', protagonists would vigorously support their side without much idea of what it was exactly that differentiated them from their opponents apart from vitriolic tradition.
Rose and Laurel
One was born into a 'Rose' or 'Laurel' family and mostly one toed the party line without question. The difference was actually rooted in the 1770s as a personal dispute between a Constable and radical lawyer Jean Dumaresq, who championed the authority of the States Assembly and the autocratic Lieut-Bailiff, Charles Lempriere, who asserted the authority of the Royal Court.
It gained early traction by polarising the judiciary and the legislature. Over time the judiciary, which acquired the banner of 'Charlots', with their emblem of laurel leaves, came to represent the more conservative in society while the 'Jeannots', or maggots as they were somewhat spitefully referred to, sporting the more colourful rose, were associated with more progressive or liberal ideas.
Leading citizens throughout the Island quickly allied themselves to one or the other personality and support in the wider community followed along the lines of family and social connections with allegiances being openly declared.
Rival families held each other coolly at arms length for much of the time, but feelings boiled over at any hint of contested elections.
By 1825 each faction had its own newspaper, although there was no organised party structure as such. The elections themselves were driven by a mob culture which might have involved activities of the most undemocratic, not to say downright illegal, nature.
A report of the late 1700s describes threatening behaviour, kidnapping, bribery and plain old violence as playing a significant role at a time when most voter affiliations were known and the secret ballot was still a figment of someone's imagination.
Open ballot
Votes were cast audibly in the church porch at the close of Sunday service and if the crowd was dominated by one party, a vote for the other side could result in the voter being very roughly handled indeed, church porch or no church porch.
Once a Constable was in place, however, the skulduggery did not cease; it merely took a different form.
In Trinity, for some obscure reason, the rival parties were called the ‘Reds’ and the ‘Blues’ and there was precious little love lost between them. In 1833 Thomas Gallichan, a Rose supporter, was elected as Consétable and he, like every other in that office, would have used all the means at his disposal to ensure that the opposition were kept firmly in their place during his tenure.
It was not uncommon at that time for the parish authorities to manipulate the rate list to disenfranchise supporters of the opposing party. Indeed, it seems that in 1835 Constable Gallichan must have gone a bit over the top in his efforts to marginalising opponents who appealed to their allies in the Royal Court.
The Court ruled against him and declared that he 'could not exclude individuals from the rate list provided the property owned was sufficient for rating purposes'. Appearing on the rate list was, of course, the primary qualification for having the vote.
As it happened, whether through Royal Court pressure or not, Gallichan was replaced after six years by Nicholas Le Quesne, a 'Charlot', but he returned to power as Constable in 1849, indicating clearly how the political pendulum used to swing from side to side.
Other means were available which allowed a ruling clique to move towards a concentration of power that could best be described as an oligarchy or even worse.
Honorary Police
A commission in 1847 warned that parochial politics was forming the nucleus of a 'police party'. This was because members of the Honorary Police gained automatic life-long qualification to vote even if they were not on the rate list. In some parishes up to a quarter of the electorate were qualified in this way.
Of course the Constable could influence the makeup of his police force and effectively boost his political support. The Dean voiced his fears that 'men of property could be outvoted by the police'.
Repeated commissions found that the system did not encourage virulent party politics beyond election days and there was no evidence of massive corruption or perversion of justice.
Politics has evolved almost beyond recognition since those bad old days, but over the years there have been diminishing echoes of the times. In the early years of the last century the polling stations were opened only for a few hours each day, which allowed scope for ingenuity in voter manipulation.
On one notable occasion during an election for centenier in Trinity, according to the memoirs of Edward le Brocq, supporters of Alfred Messervy, of Brabant, a man described as 'a stout bearded man of rather explosive temper', got about two dozen supporters of his opponent drunk and held them in a loft at Brabant until the polls closed.
Others were encouraged to accept a lift to go fishing at the Ecréhous the day before the election and woke up next morning to find that the boat had gone back without them. Others still were persuaded to vote the right way by an offer to plough their fields for free when the season came round.
Post-war peace
The experiences of Occupation seemed to have thrown parochial squabbles into perspective so that few facing the challenges of reconstruction in the new-found spirit of freedom after the war chose to perpetuate the social divisions of ‘Reds’ and ‘Blues’.
During the '50s and '60s, possibly as a reaction to the traumas of suppressed democracy during the Occupation, crowds would gather on bitterly cold nights in November to eagerly await the results of contested elections.
Political rivalries began to have more tangible connections with reality but also a sense of fun and celebration was in evidence. Impromptu musical entertainment with drum, accordion and brass was common as both sides tried to drown out the other.
Thankfully the bitter feuds that erupted at election time in Trinity, even for the election of centeniers, have now burned out and divisions that for years had pulled down a curtain of silence and animosity between families are a thing of the past.
While decorated lorries going round the Parish with loudspeakers are still common, it is some years since it became illegal to wear a candidate's colours inside the election hall and the bands, banners and bunting are now beyond most people's recollection.
The colour, noise and spectacle of the occasion have disappeared as well as the intimidation and skulduggery. Voting is now a more sedate affair, but it is a pity that something cannot be done which, while not prejudicing the fairness of the voting process, brings back a little of the style, excitement and razz-a-matazz of bygone days to add colour to what has now become a somewhat serene, unexciting and at times dour process.
