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 (May)