Guest 700- Registered: 11 Jun 2010
- Posts: 2,868
27 January 2011
19:2490442#6
Yes, I saw the mock up WW2 Street in the 'experience', very real, in fact so real, my father panicked somewhat as it reminded him too much of the war, and had to exit rather quickly !!
He was, I think,in his 70s at the time. We thought he would be interested in it.....
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Lincolnshire Born and Bred
Guest 673- Registered: 16 Jun 2008
- Posts: 1,388
27 January 2011
20:0190456#9
The subject of the White Cliffs Experience has come up on Dover Forum many times over the years. I worked there for a few months just before it closed and put a series of posts on the forum over several nights many years ago. For anybody who can be bothered to plough through all this stuff, this is them cobbled together. Think I have posted this before but it may be of minor interest to somebody or other. Remember this is donkeys years ago and any suggestions I may have made are now ancient history!
The White Cliffs Experience is mentioned on this forum every so often, almost always in derogatory terms, with slighting references to the insanity of building it in the first place and the vast sum it has cost the local community. I have been meaning to try to attempt to redress the balance for some time, although I suspect that most people have long made their minds up and that it is a foregone conclusion that they will not be swayed from their preconceived judgement. Raising the issue on the forum has been pre-empted by the Dover Express phoning me at the weekend and inviting me to write an article for this week's edition. The article has appeared today but was a bit of a rush job and I should like to expand it on here as trying to encapsulate everything within a limit of 800 words is not easy. I think somebody once commented regarding Winston Churchill that he never used one adjective where six would do, and I have the same problem, with a tendency to waffle thrown in.
I paid my money and toured the WCE some years ago, coming away with the impression that it really wasn't very good considering the huge sum spent on it. I imagine that most Dovorians who took the trouble to visit it came to much the same conclusion. Incidentally, it is surprising how many Dovorians never visited it at all but are firmly of the opinion that it was a colossal waste of money. Many recite the weary contemporary mantra to the effect that "the money could have been spent on the hospitals" despite the fact that it would have been spent on nothing of the sort. The same argument is advanced for retiring national treasures such as the Royal Yacht. If the NHS had been the beneficiary of every such vapid nostrum then we would all have a hospital each by now.
For the last few months before it closed, I was employed as a technician at the WCE. The job was actually advertised as being largely concerned with Audio Visual maintenance but turned out to be very different.
The interior of the building was cleverly designed to lead visitors on a winding path through all the various areas on different levels, there was not a single straight interior wall in the establishment. Come round with me now and I shall explain how it all worked and what the visitors could expect to see for their money:
The first section was the ferry deck. This was a broad arc intended to represent the bridge of an old ferry, with six bridge windows along one side and wooden planking on the floor to resemble the deck. Behind the windows was an area containing two slide projectors for each window, back-projecting alternately onto the window via surface-silvered mirrors. A computer and associated sound equipment racks controlled the slide sequence and commentary. Infra-red headphones were available to listen in several languages here and elsewhere in the building. The show was a pastiche of superficial vignettes of episodes in Dover's past overlaid with a soundtrack of forced jocularity. An area of metal plating moving back and forth in an alcove was supposed to simulate a moving deck at sea. Not much to hold anyone's attention but visitors had to remain here until the current show in the next section had concluded. In times past, an actor playing an old seadog, "Captain Crusty," had been employed to entertain them but had long been a victim of staffing cuts.
The far end of the ferry deck terminated in a theatre entrance. The theatre usher would eventually appear and throw the doors open and the grateful visitors would troop through and proceed along a curving alleyway into the theatre. Here they would perch uncomfortably on semicircular rows of upholstered steps overlooking the stage. The usher would make a short introductory speech and the show would commence. This consisted of an animatronix tableau with two characters, Cyd Seagull and her schoolboy progeny, perched on a wrecked sailing ship. Beneath them were rocks with clams opening and closing. A large crab in a tin helmet, Corporal Crabbe, would come up from the depths and move backwards and forwards at the front of the set. The backdrop was the white cliffs and had a large face set into it. We called him Cliffy and he represented the spirit of the White Cliffs. A slide show portraying Dover's history through the ages was projected onto the top of the cliff. The schoolboy seagull would ask questions in a piping voice, Cyd Seagull would utter maternal explanations, the clams would chime in at appropriate places, Crabby would scuttle around making cockney observations and Cliffy would thunder sage comments at intervals with mouth opening and closing, and eyes flashing. Everything twisted and turned and was accompanied by lighting effects and sound tracks.
The whole show was controlled by two large racks in the projection room above the theatre. A 24-track tape played the audio tracks to the different speaker systems and a control track fed a computer which sequenced the slide projectors and sent commands to the lighting effect racks on the gantry above the auditorium which controlled spotlights on the gantry and around the balconies. A second line from the control track output sent signals to another computer in the stagepit which fed a rack which controlled the pneumatic actuators for the animatronix. A compressor and air reservoir in an annex adjacent to the stagepit supplied the compressed air for these.
The whole thing was imaginatively conceived and cleverly done but getting rather tired. It may have been of interest to younger visitors but was rather irksome for adults. The final part of the show covered the evacuation from Dunkerque and the destruction wreaked on wartime Dover. As this drew to a close, an air raid siren commenced to sound in the background. An actor dressed as an ARP warden then appeared behind the audience, blew a whistle to attract their attention and commanded them to follow him, bringing their gas masks with them!
The end of the control track on the tape had a signal which triggered the 40's Street show, commencing with the air raid siren. The tape then rewound ready to commence the theatre show for the next batch of visitors coming through. 40's Street was controlled by the second rack in the projection room. This contained cards which supplied all the sound effects and sent control signals to a rack in the alleyway outside which controlled all the lighting effects. It also housed the CD players which played background audio in the pub, baker's shop, post office/tobacconists and caves; and audio/video to TV monitors off the main street and in the caves which showed a series of Dover residents recounting their wartime experiences, some pretty harrowing. Video was also passed to a projector which showed a fascinating compilation of newsreels of wartime Dover against the cliff wall at the end of the street, with audio to the associated speakers. Heated pots containing strange brews created the appropriate aromas in the various areas. An artificial smoke generator spewed forth smoke from a bombed building to coil in the air above the street.
The visitors came out from the theatre through a foyer which became the exit from a cinema and led them out into 40's Street. They then listened to an introductory speech from the ARP warden and watched the film. Following this, they strolled around the shops and pub savouring the ambience and examining the artefacts. Everything had been meticulously recreated, with infinite attention to detail, to convey the authentic atmosphere of Dover during the most momentous period in its history. It was a work of art through which the public could wander.
There was then the sound of a bomber passing low overhead, the crump of ack-ack shells, patterns of flashes from the spotlights, the rising wail of the air raid siren, and the visitors were chivvied into the caves by the ARP warden. Having lingered to sample the conditions that the population of Dover endured in their subterranean air-raid shelters, they then made their way back out into the daylight on the Glazed Street. Nobody ever failed to be entranced by their experience on 40's Street.
The Glazed Street bisected the building, connecting Market Square to York Street. Upon crossing this, the visitors entered the second part of the exhibition, an depiction of life in Roman Britain. They descended a wooden staircase into the Screen Forum where large monitors continuously displayed Roman related clips from Hollywood epics and Monty Python's "Life of Brian." These were fed by a rack of CD players, which also supplied sound effects to the next two exhibits, and were situated in the adjoining plant room together with a controlling computer and a lighting rack which fed spotlights in the area.
Leaving here, they then passed through an alleyway leading to the main arena. The alleyway contained a Beach Landing section with the heaving deck of one of Julius Caesar's ships approaching the Kent coast, and a tableau of fierce Celts preparing to resist invasion.
The main arena depicted the scene at the Roman Quay in Dubris. A large galley tempted visitors to sit on the thwarts and pull at the oars. Sensors were linked to a computer underneath which played back commands exhorting them to row harder if it sensed that they were slacking. A large crane could be turned by a treadwheel to lift a heavy packing case. There was an apothecary, a villa complete with kitchen, an armoury and various simple interactives involving building roads, constructing town plans, viewing talking heads, etc.
The arena was supervised by an actor in Roman garb and occasionally there would be a supernumerary demonstrating how to make Roman coins. The whole section was basically aimed at imparting rudimentary education to parties of schoolchildren but was rather too old-fashioned to hold the interest of kids brought up in a high-tech age. There was little to detain adults for any length of time.
Off the exit from the arena was a plantroom containing the ingress for mains services from York Street. These came in through a long tunnel running along the side of the building beneath the York Street pavement. This was known to us as the Ghostwalk as it was reputed to contain bones from a graveyard which had previously existed on the site.
Visitors then made their way along a curving alleyway into a viewing area looking out over the remains of part of the Classis Britannica fort. This was rather dimly lit and uninspiring by comparison with the nearby Roman Painted House. However, this area also contained an intriguing display we used to refer to as "Pepper's Ghost." Pepper was a Victorian music hall entertainer who used to cause his disembodied image to appear in a tree mounted on stage. He did this by standing in the orchestra pit with a very bright light casting his image upwards to a half-silvered mirror which reflected it at right angles onto the tree. The audience, viewing the mirror from the other side, would only see the ghost in the tree. This was brought up to date in our display, which recounted a short story about a Roman soldier who had lost a coin whilst stationed in the barracks in the Classis Britannica fort. A large-scale model of a couple of barrack rooms, with a gravel area outside and part of the fort outer wall, was stationed behind an angled half-silvered mirror. Three computer monitors, out of sight behind a barrier, pointed upwards at the mirror. A computer in the adjoining plant room played a few minutes of video on the monitors, with audio to the associated speakers. Actors moved around the barracks rooms and the square outside discussing the loss of the coin. To somebody not in the know, they appeared as holograms and it was very effective. At times, the "holograms" appeared to pass behind features on the model. This was done by sticking shapes on the monitor screens to mask the images cast on the associated features in the model. All very clever, wonder what happened to it?
This was the end of the show and visitors ascended a long curving alleyway back to the entrance foyer. Running parallel with this was a superb children's play area installed in a glazed gallery along the side of the building. It consisted of a long wooden structure on two levels and comprised a seamless rendition of ships through the ages, commencing with a Roman galley and running through to a modern ferry. There were oars to row, cannon to fire, ladders to climb, poles to slide down, gaps to cross, netting to cling to, the kids loved it.
Having completed their tour and returned to the entrance foyer, visitors could now inspect the wares for sale in the shop which occupied most of another glazed gallery, the rest being taken up with a small cafe. Down a few steps was another larger unused cafe area with doors leading out onto a grassed area with outdoor tables and benches beside exposed foundations from the Saxon Shore and Classis Britannica forts. A ramp from this cafe led down to a very large and well appointed kitchen. Beyond the kitchen were changing rooms, a small staff restroom and a loading bay with a lift up to the museum. This was where the WCE ended and the museum began. Storerooms fronting onto the approach to the WCE from the Market Square had originally been a ground floor entrance with a spiral staircase leading up to a restaurant above, supplied by the kitchen. The staircase had been removed and the restaurant converted into the Bronze Age Boat section of the museum.
The admissions counter in the foyer had a small Duty Manager's office behind it. This also contained a building service's computer linked to sensors in all parts of the WCE and museum. An alcove behind this contained the fire alarm system main unit, public address system and the automatic telephone exchange. A flight of stairs led to an alleyway connecting to the staff entrance on York Street. Running along York Street from the staff entrance to the Glazed Street entrance were a suite of offices. On the floor above were two large education rooms for parties of schoolchildren. Behind the scenes, there were very large air conditioning plantrooms throughout the building leading to condensers on the flat roofs. The boiler room and associated plantrooms were at the top of the building, behind the projection room.
Topping it all off was an elaborate flagpole. This had not flown the flag for a long time as the halyard had jammed at the top. I dearly wanted to go up and free it but was forbidden to do so because the top of the flagpole had a French radioactive device that was supposed to act as a lightning conductor. It had been found that this was of no use whatsoever and one of my last jobs was taking contractors round to commence installation of metal railings all around the edges of the various roofs to function as a lightning conductor system.
Our little technical team consisted of four members. We were responsible for maintaining every aspect of the operation: all the electrical and electronic systems, pneumatics, air conditioning, plumbing, heating, lighting and everything else you can think of from toilets to walkie talkies. Our workshop was behind the theatre, with a ladder down to the stagepit. The technical manager was Richard and he was the brains behind the operation. He knew everything inside out and was a very clever man. Previous jobs had included working for Decca Radar and running a high powered radio station in the Persian Gulf. I worked day about with Stan, the other technician, covering the seven days a week operation. He had been at the WCE since it opened. Before that he had been a lighting man at the Royal Opera House for many years. He was always the personal spotlight man for Rudolf Nureyev and they became great friends. Stan was a lot of laughs and very popular with everyone. Les, the maintenance man responsible for mowing the grass and odd jobs, completed the team. He was a cheerful soul but had been at the WCE since leaving school and was fairly jaundiced with the place. We were all paid peanuts, the place certainly didn't founder because of the wage bill.
Stan and I had a long day. We opened the place up in the morning and closed it down at night. In between, we had to try and keep everything working and respond to every call on the walkie talkie. A particular bugbear were the slide projectors on the ferry deck which were in continuous operation and demanded an unconscionable amount of time to keep going. I grew to hate them and gave them individual names to facilitate keeping a log of the faults. They were a mixture of German and Japanese models and two names I recall bestowing were "Kraut Krap" and "Remember the Kwai." A more esoteric occupation you could not invent: one moment you would be coaxing a menagerie of eccentric seagulls and an idiosyncratic crab to go through their paces, the next investigating why a Roman slavedriver had stopped exhorting his galley slaves to row harder! On numerous occasions, the security alarm would go off in the early hours and I would have to go back in and search through the dark and deserted building in some trepidation for uninvited guests.
At weekends, Stan and I would overlap for a couple of hours in order to enable one of us to go to the Dover Gaol to conduct routine weekly maintenance while it was closed. Most of the tableaux consisted of a mannequin representing some abject convict enduring unspeakable horrors, together with a concealed cine projector. Film of the head of an actor speaking his part was projected onto the featureless head of the dummy. The cine projectors were ancient items that had been retired from local schools after a lifetime of service. They were fitted with carousels containing an endless loop of film that would stop automatically after each performance. Stan had been maintaining them since the Gaol was opened and was an expert. I used to dread going round there and lost count of the time I spent draped in hopelessly tangled yards of snaking film in the stygian gloom. Stan made me laugh when he first showed me round the Gaol. I had taken over as technician from Mike Potts, who went off to found DoverWeb with Rick. Apparently Mike was a live wire and loved to alter things around, repainting and remodelling exhibits as his creative streak took him. Stan conducted me round this deeply depressing evocation of life at the bottom of the heap in a grim Victorian prison then confided that he generally dreaded coming back after any time off as he was always afraid that Pottsy would have transformed the place into a holiday camp!
The WCE was opened by Princess Anne on 1st May 1991 and closed on 29th October 2000. It seems extraordinary that a project of this magnitude should have survived for less than ten years. Why did it fail and why was it permitted to fail? I am not privy to the financial and political developments that led up to this and can only comment on what I found during the few months leading up to the axe falling.
The management company which ran the WCE also managed the Jorvik Centre in York and smaller attractions in Oxford, Canterbury and Tunbridge Wells. These all have catchment areas from which it is far easier to attract the visitor numbers necessary to ensure success than with Dover. In particular, the City of York has 4 million visitors per year and the Jorvik Centre has attracted 12 million visitors in the past 16 years.
It was my opinion, and that of the long-serving members of staff, that the management company was completely baffled as to how to deal with the very different problem of attracting visitors to the WCE and was in a state of palsied bewilderment. I suspect that they, and Dover District Council, were only too glad to be rid of an intractable problem for which they lacked both the talent and the ability to be able to see any way of turning around.
Management at local level was cast from the same mould. Capable of performing the simple routine tasks of day to day operation of an existing enterprise but utterly lacking in the dynamism, creativity and entrepreneurial vision needed to force through the changes needed to transform the WCE into the vibrant, runaway success which it had the potential to become. That potential was locked within it, bursting to be set free. It is a tragedy that it was never released. It cried out for a Richard Branson, not well-meaning timeservers and bean counters.
The attraction appeared to have been on the slippery slope for a number of years. In it's original incarnation, there was a large restaurant next door to the museum, accessed by a spiral staircase from the approach to the WCE and serviced by a huge and extremely well equipped kitchen. The restaurant had been closed down and the serving area reduced to an area of formica tables and bare walls down a flight of steps from the WCE foyer. This had then been reduced to a counter with a coffee machine and cold cabinet, serving a few tables at the end of the shop.
My partner is a professional chef and nearly wept when she saw the superlative kitchen and the opportunities squandered. The whole complex of restaurant, cafe and outside seating area on the grass lawn bordering Queen Street could have been packed with Dovorians and visitors coming in off the Market Square. It could have been festooned with decorations conceived by the artists who created the exhibits in the WCE and act as a magnet to draw customers into the attraction itself. It could have been a gathering place for locals and visitors to enjoy morning coffee, lunch, afternoon refreshments; and then open late into the evening as a dramatic venue for diners.
The failure of the restaurant released the area to accommodate the Bronze Age Boat so fortunately the museum was able to capitalise on the golden opportunity thrown away by the WCE. The museum is absolutely first class in every way and the quality of management of a different order. To walk through from the WCE into the museum was to leave behind a perplexed and bewildered kingdom marking time as oblivion approached and to enter a different world where calm and professional competence reigned. The curator was Christine Waterman and she was regarded with great respect by her befuddled neighbours muddling through next door. I believe that she has gone on to be Director of Tourism so there is hope for Dover yet.
A further resource that was never utilised was the field extending from the WCE to the Roman Painted House, and from York Street to the row of buildings on the Market Square. In one corner are the exposed remains of the great Norman church of St.Martin-le-Grand and underneath the grass lie Roman remains. In all my time in Dover I have never seen this area open to the public except on the rarest of occasions. This great expanse of greensward in the centre of downtown Dover sits locked away behind high fences all year round. No attempt was made by the WCE to capitalise on this priceless asset. There could have been fetes, markets and boot fairs; bouncy castles and slides for weary mothers to occupy their progeny, with an all-day crèche in the Gromet's glazed crescent overlooking it; tables, chairs and flowerbeds to make it into a mini park opening off the Market Square; there was even an existing kiosk to serve refreshments from. All constituting additional revenue and additional potential customers for the WCE.
The entrance was set back a considerable distance from the Market Square. It looked imposing but, by the same token, also rather daunting and requiring a conscious decision to march up and enter. The expensive option would have been to extend the entrance to the Market Square. This could have been made into a glazed approach and used for local artists to display their wares. An alternative would have been to set up an admissions kiosk directly on the Market Square with large monitors showing the delights to be experienced inside. This would have enticed passing trade who may not even have been aware of the existence of the WCE. At one time a radio-controlled clone of Corporal Crabbe had been employed to scuttle round drumming up custom but had long been retired to act as a static exhibit in the foyer as the insurance was deemed too high.
The show needed revamping. Forties Street and Pepper's Ghost were the outstanding features. The Ferry Deck and the theatre needed a complete remodel, and the Roman's section needed the dull parts ditched and replaced. The Ferry Deck could have been transformed into a modern ship's bridge, with an interactive mock-up of the full range of high-tech radar displays and navigational aids for the public to experiment with, navigating ships through the dense traffic in the Dover Strait. The theatre and the area occupied by the Roman Forum could have employed computer graphics and projectors, together with a moderate amount of scene shifting, to transform the show at intervals into any of the different fascinating eras in Dover's rich history and entice visitors to return again and again.
The Education Rooms could have been used by local clubs in the evenings. Proper seats could have been installed in the theatre and the stage could have been redesigned to enable dual use, with local amateur dramatics able to perform in the evenings; and a drop down screen could have been fitted to enable it to act as a second cinema, giving Dover a mini multi-screen! The pub in Forties Street could have been made into a functioning bar in the evenings with tables and chairs in the street outside the pub. This could have constituted the ultimate themed pub complete with authentic sounds and smells. The theatre stage could have been converted into a dance floor at night, together with the existing dramatic sound and lighting systems, to operate in conjunction with Forties Street to give Dover a decent night club. The Ferry Deck could also have been convertible into a long sweeping bar at night to make the whole section into a variegated night time complex, complete with the associated dining facilities. The place could have been the epicentre of Dover, jumping day and night, with the revenue supplementing that from the tourists visiting the attraction by day. There were so many ways that the revenue could have been enhanced, each small in their own right but cumulatively they could have made all the difference.
Lack of on-site parking was regarded as a critical deficiency by the technical staff. Cutting into the wide pavement on York Street may have been one option for partially addressing this. It occurs to me that mounting the historium on a low deck with parking for cars underneath might have been another. The Roman remains would have precluded an underground carpark.
I believe that the basic problem for the WCE was that Dover does not have a heavily populated hinterland on which to draw. Any prospect of attracting large numbers of visitors from either London or France, if that was the intention, did not materialise. It seems abundantly obvious that, with 16 million ferry passengers passing through Dover every year, this is the market to tap. Why attempt to attract visitors to Dover when a flood of humanity is continuously passing through? That the powers-that-be should have decided to slice a major artery through the heart of Dover direct to the docks and then wonder why everybody roared through without stopping is another mystery. The design of the St.James redevelopment will be crucial to the future of Dover. It must incorporate a road layout and attractions which will induce a sizeable fraction of this river of wealth to pause on the headlong rush to and from the docks.
The only major section worth retaining when the WCE closed was Forties Street. It must have taken a lot of research and a great deal of time and effort by a team of talented artists, craftsmen, lighting and electronics engineers to create. It enabled the public to experience what it was like to be in Dover during the most dramatic and dangerous period in its history. I am not aware of the reason why it could not be kept as a stand-alone attraction within the KCC
complex being constructed. Why it could not have been dismantled and re-erected in one of Dover's empty buildings is a mystery. The ground floor of MFI, for example, would have been perfect. Townwall Street could have had prominent signs directing traffic off at Woolcomber Street, there was plenty of parking, vast numbers of ferry passengers could have spent an hour there before or after their ferry passage, this priceless gem could have been kept for Dover and would unquestionably have been a flourishing success and major attraction.
As it was, somebody in the council saw fit to ask for sealed bids and then gave away this jewel in the crown to Plymouth for a fraction of what it cost the citizens of Dover to create a few short years ago. The sum received was a pittance which would not have saved a single doomed public convenience from closure. As an example of shortsighted fiscal irresponsibility it is hard to beat. I don't begrudge Plymouth the triumph of securing such a bargain and am pleased that they will be able to use it to portray what the people of Plymouth had to endure in their blitz. Why Dover District Council should feel it part of their duty to have the populace of Dover subsidise Plymouth to do so is beyond me.
I phoned the Plymouth Dome a couple of weeks ago and asked what had become of Forties Street. At present, it is still in packing cases awaiting a final decision by the City Council. The original intention was to break it up and build it into the existing display in the Plymouth Dome but apparently it is so much better than anything they have that the City Council is debating reconstructing it in it's entirety in a dedicated gallery in the City museum. They do not feel any particular urgency since, in the words of the spokesman: "Let's face it, we got it for a song!"
Guest 653- Registered: 13 Mar 2008
- Posts: 10,540
28 January 2011
08:2190508#13
Great posting Ed. I remember your original posting on here, but had forgotten some of it - not the bit about selling the 1940's street for a song that was unforgiveable.
I agree; it was a great, innovative idea and the money for it came out of DDC reserves.
I also agree Bern that it just wasn't marketed properly, as Dover isn't marketed properly now - never has been.
People will always criticise when they haven't seen it - like people say they hate France or Spain, but have never visited those countries.
I thought it was a crime that DDC at the time, were so bad at looking after money, they just closed it, also the Old Town Gaol and the Grand-shaft.
I seem to remember they cut £180,000 from the Museum budget.
£11 million was inherited and wasted with nothing to show for it.
Roger
