ALONG THE CLIFF WESTWARD.

Journey ‘Along the Cliff Westward’ and witness the breathtaking landscapes where nature and history converge along Dover’s coastline. This narrative takes you over the cliffs of Shakespeare and Roundown, offering majestic views that blend the awe of natural formations with the marvels of human engineering. From the heights of these cliffs, gaze upon the grandeur of the Admiralty Pier, the bustling activities at sea, and the serene beauty of the English Channel. This route not only reveals Dover’s scenic splendours but also echoes tales of maritime history, engineering feats, and the ever-present connection between land, sea, and sky.

Having heard much talk of this interesting spot we were determined to devote our Saturday holiday to visit it and declining the advice to find our way under the cliff resolved to go over the cliffs by name Shakespeare and Roundown. Leaving the Old Folkestone Road at the Coastguard Station we took to the footpath and commenced the ascent of the far named headland.

Whose high and bending head
Looks fearfully on the confined deep.

Having no ladies to assist we quickly reached the summit 476 feet above the beach known description of our immortal poet in “King Lear”

How fearful and dizzy ‘tis to cast one’s eyes so low.

Underneath as we stand is the celebrated Shakespeare Tunnel of the S.E.R. 1,393 yards long. It consists of two separate tubes each 30 ft. high faced with brickwork, ventilated by seven shafts sunk perpendicularly from the surface above and the same number of lateral outlets towards the face of the cliff originally made for the purpose of throwing the excavated matter into the sea. The Folkestone side of the tunnel is interesting as being the site of the preliminary borings of the Channel Tunnel and also as the scene of the famous blasting of Rowndown Cliff was effected with consummate skill by the use of 19,000 Ibs. of gunpowder causing the disintegration of no less than 4,000,000 cubic yards of chalk which in 10 seconds without noise or accident were distributed over 18 acres causing a saving to the company of about £7,000.

The viaduct on the Dover side though of a different and less stupendous character is no less interesting as a result of engineering science, it is about half a mile long and formed of heavy beams of timber securely framed and bolted but left open so as to offer less resistance to the waves in stormy weather. Of course the most prominent object in view as we gazed on the “scene so charming” was the wonderful Admiralty Pier commenced in 1847.

You get a much better idea of the enormous amount of sea and coast covered by the turret gun of this structure from our vantage ground than you can from the Pier itself.

Turning from man’s handiwork we cast our eyes sheer down and there many hundred feet below dashing madly against magnificent blocks of chalk with small sandy flats between or rolling shore-ward in successive lines were solid white crested waves and beyond these the silent mass of water.

A heavy mist lay to seaward when suddenly out of the dull grey vapour which shrouded the whole horizon the sun burst forth and revealed the glorious channel in all it’s majesty and right away the white cliffs of la belle France smilingly nodded to us. Grey gulls circled and screamed round us and swimming about in lazy circles, gradually stretching so far out to sea that they appear a mere cloud of moving clots, on its surface are a flock of the same birds while others are careering round the cliffs below.

Man truly say’s of the gull
Now lightly skim
With wheeling flight the water brim
Wave in blue sky the silver sail
Aloft and frolic with the gale
Or sink again his breast to love
And float upon the wave.

A happy life must theirs be on these Kentish Cliff’s this bright June.

As we mused on these and other things the inward Calais boat came in sight and visions of passages made in all sorts of weather, with all sorts of companions passed before us. The most amusing description I ever read of the channel passage was written years & years ago not by the late Charles Dickens.

I have frequently crossed that vile British Channel and it was always in a rage, as if it had no patience for that hollow “entente” which it has become so fashionable to refer to on all occasions. I consider myself a good sailor and yet alas! I was mortal.

The terrible example of some half a dozen Frenchmen and the savage custom of distributing a basin to each passenger, as you would distribute a pack of cards at once utterly destroyed my peace.

We had the usual assemblance of passengers such as one has seen a score of times, but rather above the average number of those unwashed nondescripts whose stale tobacco smoke and aroma of old cheese are so powerful an aid in bringing about the final catastrophe.

As we went aboard a sailor was pointing out to a Frenchwoman the way to the cabin, and to our great amusement we heard him say in reply to inquiries as to the hour of sailing “Parley vous Francis down stairs if you please Madame”- with an air so complacent and self satisfied as to lead you to the belief he thought himself quite a proficient in foreign languages.

Of all the living creatures to be at sea with a Frenchman is I think the worst. The sea is to him perfect purgatory-the postures of misery-the utter prostration – the noise and agony and contortions of the inevitable process. Some with bloodless faces and dishevelled beards clasped their basins convulsively to their bosoms as if they were their only friends-some with hoods drawn over their heads and great mufflers round their hairy necks groaned terribly as they held their splitting heads between their knees. Some lay like variegated pieces of old carpet beneath the seats and others hung themselves over the piles of rope like wet clothes to dry. The sea spray went over them-the rain and wind beat them but all in vain. Mind and body were prostrate.

And then as we lay and watched the endless stream of vessels of all nations and peoples tongue that panoramically passed long, tales of disaster at sea naturally suggested themselves and as we glanced towards Hythe remembered that the undoubted inventor of the lifeboat died and lay buried there.

Mr. Lionel Lukin was a coachbuilder in London who took out a patent for “an un-immersible boat on the 2nd November 1775. George III knew him personally and bore the cost of many of the experiments. Dr. Sharpe of Bamborough hearing of the invention and having charge of charity for saving life and property at sea sent a cable to Mr. Lukin to be made un-immersible. This was the first lifeboat that was launched. Mr. Lukin retired from business in 1824 and settled at Hythe where he died in 1834.

Having expressed a desire that the fact of his being the inventor of the lifeboat should be inscribed on his tomb-the following inscription was adopted.

This Lionel Lukin was the first who built a lifeboat and was the original inventor of that principle of safety by which many lives and much property have been saved from shipwreck and he obtained the Kings patent in 1775.

There is not a family in the land that has not a relative or a friend exposed to the dangers of the sea and hence their is not a family or individual that can escape from contribution to the grandest of our institutions “The National Lifeboat Institution.”

1885.