Change
How things have changed from centuries
past up to more recent times just before my life began, even beyond to the present
day with these great wind turbines. On the North Kent coastline the spireless
twin towers at Reculver are mostly all that remain of a church, though it is
still an unmistakable landmark that dates from the 12th century AD. Once every
ship's master and sailors would have recognised these towers for navigating out
of London as they signal where the Thames Estuary changes into the open sea.
A World War II military
facility still stands proud in the North Sea. The Red Sands fort. This complex
of seven towers was constructed in the Summer of 1943 about 6 miles off the
Isle of Sheppey. The towers themselves had been towed into position and each
placed on its own four concrete legs. The complex comprised of five gun towers,
a searchlight tower and a main control tower all 100ft above sea level,
although these towers are no longer interconnected by narrow catwalks.
Further eastwards, the World War II Tongue fort recently collapsed
into the River Thames Estuary and had been standing sentry long after its function
became unnecessary. For me it was a relic of an unknown time, a defence station
with its two huge anti-aircraft guns used against German bombers attempting to
strike at the heart of London. I remember it from my childhood as I viewed it
at close quarters from a local cruise vessel. I seem to recall that the guns
must have been housed inside huge glazed cabins, although the guns themselves
had been removed. It did look a sad wreck though. In any case, the entire
structure was covered in the grey and white evidence of seagulls using it for
their own target practice.
The Tongue lightship has since been towed away, sold to become a
restaurant in Hamburg. I had always thought that the lightship was a marker for
the North Goodwin sandbank, which is still clearly visible especially when
standing on the clifftops along the northcoast near Margate. Even before low
tide in a rough sea waves can often be seen crashing over them in a fury of
whiteness. It struck me as very odd that the last lightship, the third in a total
of more than 100 years, should be removed around the same time that the
conveniently named Tongue fort suddenly collapsed. The sandbank is still there,
but the lightship marking its presence has been removed as if there is no
hazard anymore.
I remember it was 1963 when the sea froze. Large ice
floes forming a mosaic like a sheet of shattered glass as far out to sea as I
could see. Margate pier is now long gone having been destroyed by fire and the
resulting iron wreck ultimately removed. Never again to see the pleasure
steamer 'Daffodil' coming over the horizon to berth at the pier. This smart
looking white vessel with its twin yellow funnels and polished wood handrails
was always a striking shape on the horizon as it approached Margate from
Southend. The course was always to the west of the Tongue fort in the deeper
water clear of the sandbank.
All of a sudden I felt dizzy and I had to sit down before I fell
and the throbbing pain in my head started. A familiar bright point of light
appeared in my vision and closing my eyes never made it disappear. It grew
bigger and changed into a slowly rotating jagged circular shape. I could never
focus on it as it elusively remained on the periphery of my vision. There was a
blinding flash and in that moment I had a strong impression of a concrete
structure being towed out to sea. I felt very cold. I didn't actually see
anything. Any more than I could ever focus on the jagged circle. Nevertheless
it was an incredibly intense impression. Almost real, yet unreal. I must have
imagined the towers being placed at the Red Sands.
Beyond the horizon to the North-East lay the unsighted
Essex coast. Up and round in an anti-clockwise direction is the location of my
destiny fork. One way into the abyss, the other to sense and reason.
Silently I stalked my prey. So easy. Even after
several years of no contact whatsoever, only a fool would imagine safety by
absence.
© Louis Brothnias (2007)