On the White Cliffs of Dover

The air is calm

The sound of gunshots, the boom of cannons

Long since gone,

The smoke of battle

Long since cleared.

The only sounds are the low rumble of traffic

And the cries of seagulls in the salty air

Over the sleepy town of Dover.

We climb to the top where the castle sits

On history of nearly a thousand years.

We tromp up and down twisting stone staircases

From the heights of the state rooms of King Henry III 

Down to the tunnels of World War II

Deep in the white cliffs of Dover.

Dover Castle

Central keep

State rooms, restored to what they might have looked like during the reign of King Henry III in the 1200s 

A view to the south

A view to the north

The twisting staircase to the top of the central keep

Their voices echo through the tunnels

I imagine the rumble of German aircraft over their heads

Feel the coldness of their fear.

The steel of their determination

When war broke out

When the shelling began

When the sky became dark with bombers

Over the white cliffs of Dover.

France, across the channel

Seventy-two years ago

In the same bonny month of May

Salvation for thousands of soldiers came

From ships from the white cliffs of Dover.

The closest the Germans ever got to British soil. Source for photo here

Gazing over the channel to France

I stand where so many important men stood

The Allied Forces staring down Hitler and his men.

The last line of battle became

The bonny white cliffs of Dover.

Leaning on the rail

Staring across the channel

History stares me in the face

History is here with me now

Here, on the white cliffs of Dover.