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I first arrived in Dover as a fresh faced youth in 1978. I had left behind the dirt and grime of the north-west for the sunnier clime in the 'Garden of England'. I started work at the Dover Eastern docks and was amazed at how busy it was,teeming with tourists and truckers arriving and departing for the continent. The dock lights blazed as if holding back the fall of night as the ferries continued to ply their trade.
Further down the seafront was the iconic Western Docks that I had only previously seen on tv programmes like 'Time to Remember' with its newsreels of 'temps passe' depicting grainy pictures of the Unknown Warrior returning to his final resting place. Whilst less then a generation later scenes of of the battered B.E.F troops coming home after being plucked off the beaches of Dunkirk. Now the ferries were still going to and from Dunkirk but with rail passengers and tourists. The trains still boarded the ferries and arrived in its destination whilst the passengers slept.
The town trumpets were taken out of their dusty cupboards to herald the opening of the new purpose built Hoverport. Dover was thriving and the future boded well. The dock workers,port staff and seamen frequented the bars, too numerous to name but now long since gone . Public houses, like the New Mogul, that had changed little since the war when Dover was referred to as 'Hellfire Corner' were alive as seafarers spun their yarns of the good old days.
The shop tills rang out like church bells as Belgians flocked into the town off the early morning ferry eager to buy butter and sugar, still provided by our Commonwealth, which was far cheaper than in their own country. The French mobbed Marks and Spencers buying off the peg suits,ladies dresses and not forgetting the world famous ladies underwear .
The town bristled with activity and so did the villages. The collery toiled day and night as the miners kept the wheels of industry turning. Country pubs at Eastry,Eyethorne,Shepherdswell and Martin flowed over into the gardens in the summer months as many Dovorians drove out for meals to treat Granny to Sunday lunch in the country.
Then as if overnight the mines were closed and the villages became ghost towns. The famous railway track leading to the Western Docks was tarmacked over and with it followed the decline and closure of the routes to Dunkirk and Boulogne. The much heralded new Hoverport ceased trading and the new buildings lay empty until finally being demolished and all in the period of just a few short years. The channel constructors came and went and now cars, trains and trucks stopped elsewhere and travelled to France and beyond through the tunnel.
A new life line was thrown to Dover in the shape of the new A20 and the residents were reliably informed by the great and the good that it would work wonders for the town, it did, it sliced off our beloved unspoilt seafront from the townsfolk. Now a walk with your children or grand kids along the seafront entailed walking through the urine smelling, litter ridden , beggar and busker infested underpass. Alternatively ,the brave or fool hardy could risk life and limb by crossing the busy A20 near the swimming baths.
But through it all successive councils and councillors have come and gone and with them their false promises. They tried to reassure the good people of Dover that 'things were going to improve'. Meanwhile the desolate DTIZ site grows ever larger with no sign of development and the Crypt, burnt down before I arrived in Dover as a youth of 23 years of age, still stands undeveloped as arguments and point scoring prevail behind the closed doors of the Town Hall as to its future.
Now as my 56 birthday grows closer I am older, greyer and probably none the wiser. I look back on the tears, the laughter and the mistakes I made as I walked my path through life and with a heavy heart I look at Dover and see my decline mirrored there but in far greater detail as the mistakes are there for all to see on the streets, port and life of Dover.