I've always been here. Not always as conspicuously as in 1968, 1998 or 2006, but always lurking somewhere on our beloved Marsh ... absorbing the light magnificence of the sky at Dungeness, bathing in the warm summer sounds of Dymchurch Sands, the brush of the waves on the beach, the echo of a child's laughter in a child's paradise ... and in the distance the horn of Typhoon riding on the Southern breeze.

A balmy evening - tide far out, beach smooth, sand glistening and sighing after glorious day. I stand here proud - a Marshman true, full from Fish 'n Chips, watching the blazing sun settiing beneath the wall. This is MY land - this is OUR land ... wrestled from the grip of the sea through storm and tempest, blood and age, time and tide. And as dreamy dusk takes hold and I stand here still, refreshed and strong, I hear him calling - on his own celebration day ... our hero - Syn - The Vicar - The Master. The Fighter - The Pirate. The Hero - The Englishman.

And here in this illustrious and mysterious corner of Olde England - OUR corner of this precious realm, I hear his message of courage and heroism pervading my soul. My ancestor calls to me through the swirling mists and I know the deepest secrets of the Marsh, both dark and light - as rare as blue glass stones - hidden like shipwrecks from all but those whose hearts are true. And as the midnight tide, with moon in tow, floods the bay once more, I stand alone upon the wall, breathing in the sweetest air of life.

Maybe it's a shimmer on the swirl, a 7th wave upon the shingle or a whisper on the wind, but i'm sure that just offshore I hear a bongo drum - and maybe the faintest rumble of a proud old pirate tune ... "And here's to the feet that have walked the plank ... yo ho ho for the dead man's throttle. And here's to the corpes afloat in the tank and the dead man's teeth in the bottle!"

I've always been here ... and I always will. ............... Jayl De Lara