Sunday, back in the 19th century!

The summer has certainly arrived, or apparently had before today! We had been looking forward to Sunday, as it was the one weekend when one of the town's main defensive fortresses would be open to the public.



Dover castle is world famous, and has history dating back to Roman times. But, on the opposite hill, to the south is another castle; Western heights and the fort of Drop Redoubt. Built in the early years of the 19th century, this was England's response to the threat of invasion from Napoleon's army.

The fortress fell out of use, and in the 1960s, many parts were pulled down, and what remained was left to go to seed.



Thankfully, people have formed groups, English heritage have got involved, and a band of volunteers give up their time to keep the fort from getting any worse.



And so, once a year, the whole of Western heights and Drop Redoubt is opened to the public, giving views across the town to the castle and inside to the life of people who would once save us from Gallic invasion.

We picked up a friend I made from Flickr, and drove up the steep hill to one of the car parks there, and then walked the short distance to the entrance to the fort. There is a low tunnel through the thick walls of the fortress and back into the bright sunlight of the inner fortress; and before us was the carponiered walls of Drop Redoubt itself.



So far, this is the part anyone can reach on any day, but around the corner of the fort, a small tent was et up, and after paying a small fee, we walked from bright sunshine into the deep gloom of the fortress itself.



Leading up in front of us was a steep staircase with small ramps on either side to allow soldiers to haul cannons up and down from the defensive positions. Guardrooms lead off on either side, but we make our way up the stairs and to where once there were barracks, storerooms and a magazine.



The walkway curved slightly to the left, but we came out back into the sun, to be greeted with long grass, storehouses, partly collapsed with revempments of thick grass all cordoned off.



We were early, and so we all went around taking shots without people in, marvelling at the views over the town and harbour; France was lost in a haze. We were constantly warned about the impending re-enactment of a battle that was due to begin at 11.



We left the fortress, taking some final shots, and made for one of the wonders of the town, if not the whole of the country.

We walked down the winding road down the cliff side down towards the harbour; as the road flattened out, a military encampment came into view, all people dressed in Napoleonic garb, busily finishing breakfast as the battle for the fortress was about to begin.



Drums rolled, shouts went up and muskets were loaded.



We walked on towards a large hole in the ground. Steps lead down to the top of a large circular hole, lined with bricks, and in that is a triple helix staircase; The Grand Shaft.



The Grand Shaft was built to be able to get the garrison to the harbour as quickly as possible; the answer was a wonder of military engineering wonder. Now whitewashed, and something of it's former glory. 200 steps lead down to the level of the harbour, windows look out onto a central void where light and air can get in.

Going down, is of course, easy. Each of us took a staircase, and we waved at each other was we headed down. The view from the bottom is quite simply, stunning.



In truth, once you have walked down, taken pictures and walked back up, we had the shots we wanted, and so we decided to go on a trip out in the car. Eventually, to head in the village of Elham, where we were sure we could find a nice country pub in which to have a nice lunch in.

We drove out along the cliffs, and found a country lane that on one side overlooked the Eurotunnel depot, with more pictures to be taken of trains being loaded with trucks and cars.

On we went, fairly certain we knew the way. Sadly, we were as good as we thought. Using the sun as a guide, we headed down a very narrow country lane, and after many twists and turns up hill and down dale, we drove through lush countryside, through picturesque villages and sleepy farms.

We found the main road and soon enough we were getting out of the car in the last parking space to be had in the village, outside the Kings Arms.



We got the only unreserved table and ordered a small starter followed by a Sunday roast. Bob and I tucked into pints of local ale. Not a bad life.



Afterwards, we walked round the village; all thatched of tiled cottages, overgrown gardens and the usual village church, mostly wild with thistles.

Anyway, it was time to head back home, drop Bob off, and then snooze the afternoon away in our back garden, the air full of the sounds and smells of spring.