Passing three minor stations, the train arrives at DOVER PRIORY—about which more anon—whence it proceeds through an intervening tunnel to the town station, at the old port of
The town is of especial interest to readers of “David Copperfield,” as containing on its suburban heights the cottage residence of Miss Trotwood and Mr. Dick.
Proceeding eastward from the station, a short distance along COMMERCIAL QUAY; turning left, then right; and walking onwards _viâ_ SNARGATE, BENCH and KING STREETS, the Rambler may reach the Market Place, centrally situated in the lower part of the town, and may recall the circumstance of poor David resting near at hand, on his arrival—a juvenile stranger in a strange land—after a morning’s fruitless inquiry as to the whereabouts of his aunt. We read (in chapter 13) as follows:—
“I inquired about my aunt among the boatmen first, and received various answers. One said she lived in the South Foreland light, and had singed her whiskers by doing so; another, that she was made fast to the great buoy outside the harbour, and could be only visited at half-tide; a third, that she was locked up in Maidstone Jail for child stealing; a fourth, that she was seen to mount a broom in the last high wind and make direct for Calais. The fly-drivers among whom I inquired were equally jocose and equally disrespectful; and the shopkeepers, not liking my appearance, generally replied without hearing what I had to say, that they had got nothing for me. I felt more miserable and destitute than I had done at any period of my running away. My money was all gone, I had nothing left to dispose of; I was hungry, thirsty, and worn out, and seemed as distant from my end as if I had remained in London.”
At the junction of CHURCH STREET and CASTLE STREET, both leading to and from the Market Place—at the northeast angle—there may be noted the Street Corner at which David sat down, considering the position of affairs, and where he received the first practical intimation for the proper direction of his search:—
“The morning had worn away in these inquiries, and I was sitting on the step of an empty shop at a street corner, near the Market-place, deliberating upon wandering towards those other places which had been mentioned, when a fly-driver, coming by with his carriage, dropped a horsecloth. Something good-natured in the man’s face, as I handed it up, encouraged me to ask him if he could tell me where Miss Trotwood lived. . . . ‘I tell you what,’ said he. ‘If you go up there,’ pointing with his whip towards the heights, ‘and keep right on till you come to some houses facing the sea, I think you’ll hear of her.’”