DOVER BRITAIN’S FRONT LINE: THE CLIFFS’ DEFIANCE

Press, Volume LXXIX, Issue 24052, 14 September 1943, Page 4

DOVER BRITAIN’S FRONT LINE: THE CLIFFS’ DEFIANCE

[By W. L. C. TOWNSEND, a London of the -Sydney Moral,*

(Published by

Arrangement.)

I can well imagine a doctor m postwar Dover saying to a neurasthenic patient, “You’re run down and nervy, what you want is a course of shelling to brace your nerves up and restore your digestion,’’ and I wonder what is going 'to happen to that poor patient if all our desires for a peaceful world are realised and there are no bombardments to be had. . This flight of fancy might seem absurd until you have visited Dover and have been conducted over ®°fJ}f of the ruins of the town and the tunnel s'helters in the cliffs by Major Martin, an elderly A.R.P. official, who typifies the imperturbable and resourceful spirit of Britain at war. Our way to the tunnel shelters lay past some of the most shattered parts of the town. An indoor swimming bath had been laid open to the sky. “A shell landed in there when there were 15 people bathing there, said Major Martin, jerking, a thumb over his shoulder at the ruin as he strode briskly along. „ “I suppose they were all killed, one of our party remarked as we took in the full effect of the shell. “No,” came the impassive reply from the major. , , I was about to remark what an extraordinary escape those people had .had when he added, in the same tone of voice, “Not all.” It was about 10 p.m. when we arrived at the shelters, and people were already in the bunks which line the walls of the tunnels. We saw the canteens and dressing stations and all the other amenities provided for the comfort and health of the people. “These tunnels,” the major told us, “will shelter 12,000 people, though nothing like that number come to them now that Jerry’s so much quieter. This secticm, you see, was originally made during the Napoleonic Wars. Why? You can make up any story you like about why they dug them, and nobody will contradict you. Nobody knows. _ Now I’ll show you another section.”

Relations Officer of the Ministry 0 f Agriculture and question-master of the 8.8.C. Brains Trust, and Richard L Wilson, Washington correspondent of the “Des Moines Register,” who was on a short-visit to England. The farm is on the downs a few miles from Dover, and on our way there we put in at the hotel in the village of, -St. Margarets-at-Cliffe, where we wer? to stay, to drop our luggage. Local Hostilities ' rr We were invited to look at the genial proprietor’s ordnance map, where he had pinned a paper flag to mark each of the hundreds of shells which had fallen in the Dover district Probably because the flags were be.' coming inconveniently close, or because of boredom, the plotting was far from complete. A chance remark about the name of the village prompted the proprietor to tell us about a battlethat raged there some time ago. When the map m question first ap. peared the name of the parish was spelt St. Margaret-at-Cliffe. Fierce indignation meetings and a long battle with the authorities resulted. But the parish won in the end, and future - maps bore the name St. Margarets-at-i-Cliffe. Quite plainly this battle of the, “S” ranks in the minds of the people’ of this parish as a much more import-• ant landmark in the village’s long history than the worst that the Hun hai been able to do with his shells. The health of the people of Dover is mostly due to the fact that they have sufficient of the right kinds of -food, and this they owe to the great achievement of British farmers. Of course, it . would not affect their diet if the 3000 acres that Mr Mitckfell farms were still the waste down land they originally were, but it is a typical piece of British defiance to push the country’s cultivation right under the nose, as it. were, of the enemy. , We walked through a field of wheat—it would yield about 50 bushels to - the acre. Mr Mitchell assured us-' with poppies making bright dots of colour through it, and on to a field of oats. As we were advancing through this we noticed on our right a man on the flat roof of a building some' distance away waving a large red flag, at us. Someone drew Mr Mitchells. attention to this warning gesture. “Oh, he’s just doing that to let us know we’re in the danger area/’-hj 1 said

Improved Health In this section the tunnels were smaller. They owe their existence to the first World War, having been scooped out by a mining machine that was tried out in Dover before being sent to Arras to be used there to tunnel under the German lines. Our guide 'pointed out the central heating and other appointments which were much the same as we had seen in the other section. It all awakened memories, apparently. “They told us to build Anderson shelters, huh, he snorted. „ . , , The inspection finished and out in the open air again, we thanked the major and congratulated him and his colleagues on the great job they had done to help the people of Dover to remain in this front line of Britain. “They’re not only in the front line, he said, drawing himself up with pride. “They’re not only in the front line. They’re all the better for it. Yes, it’s a fact. The health of the people of Dover is far and away better than it has ever been. I cant tell you why exactly, but it is, and I m sure these shelters have done something to keep up the people’s health. They are not here for amusement, as you may guess, and in the shelters they can get a good night’s rest, knowing that 130 thing Jerry can do will harm them there.” „ . . „ “Of course, it’s marvellous what you can get used to,” he added reflectively, “but shelling’s not nice. Give me bombs any day. You can hear the plane. You’ve got some idea where the bomb is falling. But a shell s different. You don’t know anything until it lobs right next to you and then if it’s close enough you still dont know , • We were later to see another inspiring example of this front-line life in England—the farm worked under fire from the German guns by Mr G. W. Mitchell, who was awarded the George Medal for his service to the country. In fact that was why I came to Dover, with Donald McCullough, Press

Danger Area We walked on. The flag waved more •. wildly the further we went, and their? a heavy machine-gun began to stutterl'somewnere on our left. Mr Mitchell*did not slacken his pace; so we either, though I fancy the conversa-fi tion flagged a trifle. We were newr to all this, and a shellhole we papsedf wasn’t altogether reassuring. At; last? we came to the.cliff edge, and there* before us, showing quite plainly in the| distant haze, was the outline of Gris Nez. . . . , . Across that stretch of water at anj& moment might come a large shell and|> fall without any warning of its coming,?That sobering thought might hay& been more persistently with us on toe; return through the fields if it had noc, been for Mr Mitchell’s bright tive .conversation. There, he said, waSr a shellhole round which 70 sheep had??’ been'killed at a blow. Over there*!® 1 the ploughed field there had. been- a| ! hole which was now filled in. >An*feg; presently y/e came upon a deep yawning to the sky. ‘‘That s nuisance, that one,” Mr Mitchell nSH marked, “because the tractor keepip|

falling into it.’ . .. . . -r-w We passed a big gun which has ref joiced in the name of Winnie evra-i since it was inspected by mil. Churchill, and further on its cop? panion, which for want of a name has been dubbed “The Pooh.’ I ’ Our sleep that night was not brokenby an alarm, and in the morning we ; r went into Dover to take the train back/ to London. Approaching the station; we passed Wesley Hall. It is badly damaged, patched in parts with coiv rugated iron, and shored up here and there. A stone in the fabric hears three lines carrying this record: ‘Built 1910. Bombed 1917. Rebuilt 1920.