5ive or Fewer

Note: As you will know from the ‘Intro,’ this is a blog with posts using five or fewer of the thing words are made from. I find it hard to write like this, what with spell check, AI, etc.

The cliff in the above image is to the west of Dover and is named after the man who wrote the play King Lear. When he put his quill to paper in about 1609, it was ‘Hay Cliff’ or, maybe, ‘High Cliff.’ The place where I lived, which is close by, was spelt Ay, then cliff. I’m not sure when this image was made. But, as you can see from the holes in the cliff, they made for the rails that the trains ran on in about 1840, so it was after that. Today, trains run under the cliff and sea to the other side, where the small boats still come from. As you can also see, the local folk fixed their nets and did not see the small boat that put those who came to work on the beach. They and those like them who came long ago went to open banks, brew beer, weave cloth and make and grow other stuff about which the local folk had no idea.

Will, the man with the quill, also wrote a play about a Roman chap who tried to climb a cliff just to the east but was told to go away by local folk with blue paint on their faces. He left and came back a few years later with some mates. They built roads, a villa or two for their hols, and a wall to keep the Scots out. The men with blue faces went on to form the BNP, Man City and other clubs. The Scots came over the wall and went home when oil was found in the far north. Well, you know the rest!

And the small boat folk? They still come—some by legal means, but most by not-so-legal or safe means. But Sir Keir, the new man @ gov.uk, says he will sort it out.

But it has not been all peace since the Roman chap came. When they left, the blue-faced folk took over. After a few local wars, some a long way away, the first bomb at the start of World War One and the last in World War Two fell near here. Also, in WWII, large guns would shell us from the other side and hit our homes, which is why my mum and dad went to Wales, where I was born, but not until after the war.

In 1953, Mum and Dad came back to my gran's house in Dover, where Mum was born, and I came too. Later, in 1956, we moved to a new home near the White Cliff.

From the room where I slept, I could see the coast – where the big guns had been fired. Also, at night, light from the lamps in homes where the folk lived, but not the ones who fired the guns at us!

There has not been a local war since 1945. Now, we fight our wars in other lands, which is much safer (for us). Over the years, other than Suez in Egypt, I think we have won more than we have lost. We have also given back places that we never owned in the first place to the folk that lived there.

Until they built the rail track below the cliff, they used to build boats on the beach. It’s not the same as the Dover Beach in the poem, by the way. They don’t build them now, but many are found in docks. There used to be a train called the ‘boat train’ until they made the track under the sea to the other side. Now, ships sail from the port to go all over the world just for fun. You can still catch a ferry if you are going on hols or pop across to the other side for some duty-free. In the old days, local folks used to avoid duty on some goods like tea, but now it’s quite cheap at places like Tesco.

Going back to Tudor times, my mum’s dad and his dad used to pilot ships past Dover (both ways). Each pilot had a flag that flew from the mast of the ship to show they were on board. In the olden times, if a pilot lost a ship, they were put over the cliff's edge near the White Cliff. I think they didn't do that much after the 1650s. But I know that Mum’s dad’s dad only had one leg!

To be cont’d….