On a Darkling Plain

Last Friday, my critical theory class read Matthew Arnold's poem "Dover Beach," written in the 1850's. I have read it for classes a dozen times in the past few years, but this time it seemed particularly fated that I should have to read it closely: the next day I ventured to the White Cliffs themselves! My friends Anna and Devon and I took a train from King's Cross to Dover early Saturday morning. The London sky was gloomy and dark, perhaps hungover. I was momentarily excited to pass by the Battersea Power Station on the ride, known to me as the cover of the great Pink Floyd album "Animals." It was just as bleak a sight as I imagined, so it was only momentarily thrilling, after which it just blended in with the rest of the dreary scene. 

We arrived in Dover two hours later. The town itself felt remote, in the way a dusty, disheveled attic feels remote. Passing through, I wondered if this was really the site of that great emblem of England. We made our way to the waterfront, where we walked along Dover Beach and went out on the pier. The horizon was hazy and indistinct, until the clouds shifted and the sun's shades illuminated the waters and distant French shore. Barges were passing by in a slow, incessant cortege. At the end of the pier, from the right perspective, I finally saw the chalky cliffs.

To the far left is Dover Castle. A local told us that the castle itself was only five-hundred years old, and thus not too impressive...He advised we visit the Roman Lighthouse, which, as its title suggests, is quite a bit older than five-hundred years. We did not make it to either, but noticed them throughout the day, especially during the hike up the cliffs.

As we moved closer to the cliffs, we saw the immensity of the Port of Dover. Vessels were loading hundreds of lorries all lined up in several long queues. It is the world's busiest passenger port, and has been in business since 1606. From here, the barges cross the channel to Calais and Dunkirk, two places I would love to visit. This port is where a flotilla of fishermen took off to rescue the stranded English army in Dunkirk during the evacuation of 1940.  It is never quite as potent as I expect it will be to stand in a distinctly historical place. I think it is difficult to imagine the kind of panic this place felt during the Wars. This would have been the first place to have been passed over by the Luftwaffe on its way to bomb London and other English cities. I have read about these histories from America, so to be up close now is a strange and foreign thing-to be in the historical space itself (not to say that America isn't a historical space).

Following the public footpath that climbs up the cliffs, the trail progressed from concrete to grass to mud. We approached a bend in the path and attempted to continue on. If you recall my episode at Richmond Park, you can imagine my dread in making such decisions. But this way turned out to be too squelchy even for hiking sneakers. We turned back and reared up a rocky hill like billygoats to another path. It was wider, but just as slick. Here is the view from this trail:

We had lunch at a bench and took a moment to clean off our sneakers. The sky was getting darker, and the sun spread onto the French shore. This was a beautiful sight, but I could not take a good enough picture with my camera. Many things just have to be seen in person-I have been learning this everywhere I go.

After straddling a few posts on the way down a very muddy hill-and taking a few moments to inevitably relive the harrowing memory of The Great Richmond Spill of 2015-I sat down on a hill that led to the clifface. When I was sitting there staring out at France, I noticed a group of Exmoor ponies lazing only a few yards away from me. They were rolling over to scratch themselves, eating grass, and staring out into space. They seemed indifferent to the view and the cold wind, the families shouting and laughing on the trail, their dogs yapping ahead of them, and the distant drone of the port's loudspeaker. But I envied them-they live with this view every day!

We learned later that the ponies are kept at the cliffs as a sustainable method of keeping the grass short; I think that's pretty cool.

On the way back, we took our time to appreciate the view once more before leaving. Looking out, I could not help but think of Matthew Arnold's poem, which he wrote while on his honeymoon in Dover.

"Dover Beach"

The sea is calm tonight.
The tide is full, the moon lies fair
Upon the straits; on the French coast the light
Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand,
Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
Come to the window, sweet is the night-air!
Only, from the long line of spray
Where the sea meets the moon-blanched land,
Listen! you hear the grating roar
Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,
At their return, up the high strand,
Begin, and cease, and then again begin,
With tremulous cadence slow, and bring
The eternal note of sadness in. 

Sophocles long ago
Heard it on the Ægean, and it brought
Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow
Of human misery; we
Find also in the sound a thought,
Hearing it by this distant northern sea. 

The Sea of Faith
Was once, too, at the full, and round earth’s shore
Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled.
But now I only hear
Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,
Retreating, to the breath
Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear
And naked shingles of the world. 

Ah, love, let us be true
To one another! for the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night.

It was a really special day for all of us, and has made me more eager to explore the many other footpaths of England.

We took the next train back, which we did not realize was the high speed train, so we ended up having to pay an extra £6 each. Lesson learned: wait for the cheap train. We made it back in an hour though, and I was happy to get right to bed after our ten mile hike!

A few days later, my friend Shannon arrived in the UK for her semester in Bath. I met her at Paddington Station and we had a great time catching up. We had breakfast in Little Venice, then strolled around Hyde Park until her train left for Bath.

It was so exciting for me to send a friend off on her big adventure-it feels like mine started ages ago, so it reminded me of that crazy combination of fear and amazement. I'm visiting her two weeks from now. Hopefully we will have some time to walk a few miles of the Cotswold Way, which begins in Bath.

Tomorrow I am flying over to the Netherlands for a weekend in Amsterdam. I will be sure to keep you posted and give a thorough report upon return!