THE sage of this esteemed newspaper, Meridian, set a test for readers last week by poising the question: which three words sum up Jersey?

The same question was recently asked of singer/songwriter Nerina Pallot and Lord Karan Bilimoria the founder of Cobra beer.

Ms Pallot’s response was simply ‘home, white house’ – a very personal and local response from someone who grew up here. The Indian peer, as a self-made millionaire and businessman, came from a totally different perspective.

As Meridian so observantly pointed out, his three words ‘beautiful, special and trust’ were music for the ears of the proponents of the abysmal flying banana brand.

His Lordship was not referring to our national characteristics or the quiet pace of life compared with crime-riven inner cities; he was extolling the reputation of the finance industry among the movers and shakers worldwide.

Those two very different responses to a simple question got me thinking about what the outside world really thinks of this little rock and which three words outsiders conjure up when they think of Jersey.

‘Cows, potatoes, Bergerac’ would be the top three answers if the question were put to contestants in Family Fortunes, a game show hardly known for its cerebral content.

Cast the net ever wider across the globe and you could be surprised to discover that as much as we value our 45 square miles of the planet, a great many people in its far-flung reaches have never heard of Jersey.

If they have, it is only because there is a state of America named in our honour in recognition of one Jerseyman’s adventurous spirit and confidence to bat above the average,  first exhibited in the days when a Norman duke sets his sights on a foreign crown.

It is a sobering and refreshing experience to meet someone who has never heard of the place where you were born. When travelling far from home, it is so much easier to describe oneself as English than try to explain how an Island just 14 miles from France is British and not French.

But bring Bergerac into the conversation and all becomes clear, except when asked if you have even encountered Jim, Charlie Hungerford or Diamond Lil. It is scary how intelligent people seem unable to detach make-believe from real life.

Because our good fortunes post-war have depended on profiting from depriving the British exchequer and those of other jurisdictions of income tax, the outside world is under the misapprehension that all Islanders are rich (if not multi-millionaires) own super yachts and drive luxury cars. Many are, but then again, most are not.

There are so many facets to life in Jersey that it is impossible to sum up the entirety in just three words. Ask the question in summer and the answer will be ‘sun, ‘sea, sand’, yet fast-forward to mid-winter and expect responses such as ‘cold, damp, dark.’

Come election time, we all groan ‘No, not again’ and when the results are announced we sigh with resignation: ‘No change there, then!’

‘Old boys’ network’ sums up the general attitude to how the government and parishes work and the way business is done. Then there is the Jersey that ‘cares,’ ‘gives’ and is ‘generous’ compared with the one that is ‘selfish,’ ‘indifferent’ and ‘shallow.’

To the enfant terrible of Island politics drawing his wage from the public purse while languishing in self-imposed exile in London, Jersey is ‘corrupt, oligarchy, Kafkaesque.’
As the States drives economic growth regardless of the costs for traditions and the environment, there is a new Jersey in the making epitomised by ‘expansion,  demolition, change’, battling against those who favour ‘tradition, heritage, stability.’

For many, the three words that signify the rapid burst of development that never seems to end judging by the number of lofty cranes that tower above construction sites are ‘Dandara, Mauger, Camerons’ or any trio of builders and developers names that hog the hoardings.

What at first appears to be a simple question is far more complex, and not just because of the dichotomy between a finance industry that rewards its star employees more in a single year than the lowest-paid will earn in an entire working life. Ask a banker who has just received a fat bonus what three words sum up his Jersey and you can bet your bottom dollar it will be poles apart from the answer from a family that can’t get through Christmas without  charity.

On that basis, what three words sum up the international finance industry from the outside? ‘Money, profit, greed,’ while for those who reap the benefits of a well-paid job it all about ‘lifestyle, bonuses benefits.’

As this Island continues to lose its true identity in the name of progress, turning the once familiar and characterful surroundings of St Helier into Clonesville UK and the countryside into a ‘manicured, suburban nightmare’, what three words best sum up the new St Helier rising from the rubble of the past?  ‘Glass, steel, concrete’ or  ‘soulless, dull, unimaginative’?

Yet it is not all ‘gloom, doom, despair.’  There is still plenty on this little rock that gives cause for ‘joy, hope, optimism’ – yes, even from yours truly whose pessimism and cynicism knows no bounds. Well, it is almost spring, the days are lengthening and nature is about to burst forth a marvellous display of blooms and blossoms to delight the eye and cheer the coldest of hearts.

The Jersey I grew up in was ‘sleepy, calm, rural’; the one I live in now is ‘noisy, hectic, urban.’ Last week’s JEP Temps Passé feature showing St Brelade’s Bay before it was sacrificed on the altar of ‘bucket and spade’ tourism and ‘luxury residential development’ just about sums up the worst of progress.

The open expanses of the sand dunes, albeit fringed with inappropriate development, show how common sense can prevail to preserve what is worth saving regardless of the financial cost.

There are three words that need applying to Jersey before it is too late: Stop. Pause. Reflect.