Lessons from the Lovers Before

by Leah Walters (United States of America)

I didn't expect to find United Kingdom

I did not get to see the White Cliffs of Dover. Standing on the platform to head to my next destination, one I had chosen that morning – my decision based solely on the fact that Exeter looks like a nice place to visit and Bill Bryson left his footprints there as well - I realize that I am leaving Dover with a regret. I feel a slight tightening in my chest and recognize that perhaps Dover is also leaving me with a growing anxiety. 'Sophocles long ago heard it on the Ægean, and it brought into his mind the turbid ebb and flow of human misery'; perhaps a long-established collective cry of those disappointed and suddenly fearful of what lay ahead. The hard-wooden bench pushes at me, my lower back protesting under its unforgiving curve. Two pigeons are fighting for a speck on the platform; neither of them getting close enough to it to realize they are fighting over a pebble, not food. My thoughts race. Dover, logically, was the only way to begin my travels, for if I was to truly follow in Bill Bryson’s steps (which is my goal), then of course I needed to see the sight he saw when he first fell in love with England. However, I did not fall in love. I have begun to fall out of love with England, or perhaps better phrased, my version of England. And this disappointment I am feeling, clenching at me, filling me with unease is demoralizing. How can my first stop on my journey already plague me with such distress? Is this what the rest of my travels will be like? Question after question begs an answer from before the tracks begin to rattle, the digital sign to my left announces the arrival of my train five minutes out, one that will take me back into London before turning around to head back out into England. My thoughts are put on a distant mute, the platform suddenly filling with the sounds of laughter. I turn to my left. There are two older couples, hobbling their way onto the platform, luggage trailing after the two men, woman holding onto their small purses. The woman are adorned with hats, yellow and pink, their shirts each covered with varying patterns of flowers, their pants a cheery pale yellow. The men are bundled in pullovers over pressed white and blue colored shirts. They shuffle the brown loafers on their feet as they watch their wives burst into laughter again. Through their fast and lively conversation, I overhear one sentence that makes me pause those distance thoughts all together: “It was wonderful to visit Dover again!” It was spoken with enthusiasm between another wave of laughs by one of the women. A general murmur of agreement passes through the group and then they are once again on another topic that I cannot fully follow. Suddenly I have seen the history that Dover has, not just as far as a location but also with her relationship with England’s people. I had forgotten that this town, while downtrodden, perhaps neglected and ages away from the brilliance it might have held, was still treasured by lovers, friends, families, and residents of England who have built a connection with her rocky shores. I realize, with a slight shock, that I had also forgotten this is the same reason I journeyed here to begin with. I may be a foreigner to these shores, but I came in pursuit of a connection I had built through other means: through literature, film and stories. I had discounted the importance of such learning. 'We find also in the sound as though, hearing it by this distant northern sea': a kind of hope. The mood of the group to my left is infectious and I find myself smiling despite my regrets in Dover. I begin to realize that this trip will be nothing like I have planned it to be, and that to learn, I have to start looking with a new expectation: the expectation that England will teach me how to love her, truly, once again. *Excerpts from 'Dover Beach" by Matthew Arnold.