Moisture glistened on the walls in the
brilliance of moonlight. I couldn't see the Moon, though I knew what it was.
Somehow. There was no running water, just a dampness giving rise to a clammy,
musty smell, which pervaded the darkness.
I could feel a sharpness as my
hand brushed against the wall and I quickly withdrew it taking great care in
case I stumbled on the uneven floor. I cannot recall how I found myself in this
place and I had no idea where 'here' actually was, though it was certainly a
place I did not want to be. I knew that much. I was afraid. This was an eerie
place. But I became more curious and made no effort to escape. To get out.
In the grey dimness I could
not see any definition. Just greyness.
Suddenly the entire place lit
up with dazzling lights twinkling in the brightness. Shells. Millions of shells
all shining in unison. Silver. Amber. Gold. Many beautiful patterns, never
repeating. A wonderment filled me.
The tunnels connecting the
caverns were brought to life in this mysterious cavern. The dimness dispelled,
my fears seemed to vanish. At that very moment I knew water and lunar light
were somehow connected. Promising mystery.
A sense of unease revealed a
dark side to this strange place.
I awoke.
Where had I been? I had never
before experienced such awe and fear together. A very strange mixture that was
very uncomfortable. I didn't understand such feelings of puzzlement and fear.
Yet I was intrigued.
That very day brought me to an
area of Margate that I had never ventured into before. Something seemed to
bring me here as though I was being directed. Turn down this road. Left here
and up the hill. Alongside a brick wall the likes of which I had never seen
before. Instead of horizontal courses of bricks they followed the incline of
the hill.
Something about this area
seemed to bring out a curious behaviour in builders. A modern wall built using
old methods. Even that didn't seem right. Everything was wrong in this place.
My dream had been filled with patterns. A logic shrouded in mystery, but
showing definite order.
But something wasn't right. I
still felt unsettled.
Words* came into my head from
where I do not know.
Enter;
the scene that greets you here,
No
common scrutiny demands:
These
walls, though perfect they appear,
Were
fashion'd not by modern hands.
The
sea, long centuries ago,
Cast
forth from its mysterious cells
The
stores here ranged: a goodly show
Of
beautiful and glittering shells.
These
by ingenious hands were wrought
In
accurate and close array,
And
eager hands, I doubt not, sought
The
Grotto of an ancient day.
Beneath
the shrouding earth conceal'd,
Long
was it suffered to remain,
Till
accident its site reveal'd
And
drew it to the world again.
Gaze
on these shells, so aptly plac'd
In
graceful, well proportion'd lines;
Mark
well the harmony, and taste
Shown in the various quaint designs.
Perfect.
Words younger than
the ancient caves they described.
I entered the
Shell Grotto...
*James Newlove,
owner 1835
© Louis Brothnias (2006), Rev
2 (2007)