‘Charles Dickens never lived here’
Is a standout plaque on a cottage wall,
Down towards the harbour in Broadstairs –
Must take some courage to ironise
The Broadstairs branding of itself …
He first came here in 1837,
The year of Victoria’s accession,
And a year of gathering Chartist momentum,
To lodge in the High Street at number twelve,
To complete the last few monthly numbers
Of Pickwick Papers, and make so much money
That he bought the imposing cliff top house,
Fort House, built some thirty odd years before,
Where he penned his pages of labyrinthine plots,
And Pickwickian old time wistful nostalgia,
And critical observations of modern times:
Pickwick Papers, Oliver Twist,
Nicholas Nickleby, The Old Curiosity Shop,
Barnaby Rudge, Martin Chuzzlewit,
Dombey and Son, David Copperfield;
Fort House is now named Bleak House:
‘Experience beyond expectations the grandeur and delights
Of Charles Dickens’ former home Bleak House …
Little Dorrit’s Bedroom with king-sized bed,
Charles Dickens suite with private bathroom.
The decadent Copperfield Suite with its luxury bathroom
complete with double bath.
The Nicholas Nickleby three bedroom apartment …’
But despite this kitsch and faux marketing,
It is impossible not to feel a thrill,
Standing beneath windows that jut out to sea,
The ebb and flow of the tide echoing
The scratch of a quill across some parchment,
As Dickens gazed out on a moonlit sea,
Or paused, pen in hand, as a new dawn
Ushered in a new chapter and character,
And some relief, respite and rejuvenation
From all that fervent lucubration:
‘The radiant sails … gliding past the shore,
shining on the far horizon …
the sea is sparkling, heavy, swelling up
with life and beauty, this bright morning’ …
Meanwhile, mythology pervades the town:
‘Happy Birthday Mr. Dickens!
A birthday celebration with a Cream Tea,
Grand Raffle and a performance
by the Dickens Declaimers …’
And then, as it were, Fake Mews (!):
Bill Sykes Cottage, Bumble’s Antiques,
The Old Curiosity Shop cafe,
Dickens Cottage, Barnaby’s Lodge …
But down by the front stands a museum,
Dickens House,
The inspiration for Aunt Betsy Trotwood –
Chasing donkeys – and refuge for Mr. Dick
(On the road to Dover, in the novel),
And the bourne of David Copperfield:
‘” If you please, aunt. I am your nephew.”
“Oh Lord!” said my aunt.
And sat flat down on the garden path.’
Well, what a Dickens of a place Broadstairs is!
And how many places do this sort of thing,
To get the tourists in to spend their money …
Is it any different from our practice
At Radical Stroud, with our stress upon
The recreation of anonymous voices:
Those subject, to the ‘enormous condescension of posterity’?
As we go beyond the empirical,
Beyond the documented,
With our ‘Guerrilla Memorialisation’.
In short,
Is there such a chasm of difference
Between ‘Heritage’ and ‘Counter-Heritage’?