Sibylle's Blog @mohn-images.com: The Dover Cliffs

Last week I returned to Dover, exploring and reliving a bit of personal history from forty years ago. That was the time when every English hotel had weekly fire drills, made necessary by old creaky wooden staircases, carpeted, too narrow, too steep and too winding. A siren would sound and people had to get out of their rooms and assemble in some designated area - but this time it was unannounced and real!
I had stayed behind, alone in my hotel room reading, possibly a bit sick after a rough channel crossing which was before the time of the channel tunnel. My family had gone out to explore, it was our first day on the English coast on the way to Somerset and the Exmoor. Someone knocked at the door, I opened, a waiter was standing there bringing in a burnt smell. He asked me to leave my room, so I followed him down the emergency stairs - the staircase was slighty smelling of smoke, but nothing too serious. He took me down to the entrance hall, I had nothing else to do and wandered off; the others from my family were out, so I did not think to stay in front of a burning hotel with strangers – I had only had a year of English language tuition then and did not want to try that out - and all the ruckus with fire engines , rolling up hoses etc. I would not want to stand in the way. Which makes me think that I would never have become a good paparazzi photographer; it is the least pleasant aspect of the profession.

I took a walk along the cliffs and down to the harbour... after a while, it occurred to me, that I should return to check what was happening. The hotel looked pretty normal and inhabitable, the fire had obviously been put out, so I went back in, only to be overwhelmed by a crowd of people among them my crying clamouring mother who was clearly distraught and under the impression I had perished in the fire, inspite of the insistence of the hotel staff that they had fetched me and had rechecked all rooms - I still hear her “But she might be in the bathroom! She is only ten!” ( … I was twelve, ….) … Having grown-up children now, I can fully comprehend what horror she must have felt. Apparently the firemen, after putting out a small chimney fire, aired the hotel through the windows, so that dark smoke was billowing out through windows on our floor when my parents and sisters returned. I did not see any of that, but from my mother’s reaction, it must have been pretty bad. My behaviour was rather inconsiderate and they were quite angry with me, for having totally forgotten to inform them of my whereabouts . But that was long before the time of mobile phones. – My father was relaxed though; at least someone knew me - he was convinced I had gone for a walk.

So, now I was curious to go back in time and retrieve some memories: forty years later, taking an undisturbed walk along the cliffs which I had retained in good memory, this time together with my grown-up daughter.