Positioned as it was at the narrowest part of The Channel, Shakespeare Cliff was a logical site for a network of army observation posts and bunkers that stretched in an almost continuous line across the towering cliff tops. Just a few hundred metres inland from the cliffs, the Dover Road ran parallel to the coast from Dover before turning north-west at Folkestone as the A20 and heading inland toward Ashford and, ultimately, on to London. The ground sloped downward as it moved inland from the cliffs, generally masking road traffic from the prying eyes of the enemy across The Channel and therefore allowing the four Lanchester 6x4 armoured cars that arrived in convoy that afternoon to approach unseen from Folkestone along the Dover Road.
The Lanchester was an older design that dated back to the 1920s, and as such it’d already been removed from front line service and relegated to the realms of a few reconnaissance units within the Territorial Army. Nevertheless, it was a solid and reliable vehicle with good on- and off-road performance, and was armed and armoured well enough to make it a reasonable choice as an escort vehicle in times where some protection was required without the desire to attract too much attention.
As the troop came to a halt by the side of the road, close to a gated fence line that cordoned off the cliffs themselves with rolls of barbed wire, General Sir John Dill stepped from the passenger side of the second vehicle in line and stretched his body after a long and tiresome trip down from London. He donned his cap as a pair of junior officers also dismounted from the following vehicles and jogged quickly up to join him. One officer, a captain, wore the red tabs of Army General Staff, and although the second man, a major, wore the same khaki officer’s dress as the others, he also displayed the insignia of the Royal Marines.
Beyond the fence line on the cliff side, the low roof of a partially-buried concrete bunker sat close by, a rifle-armed guard standing by the open entry. Upon sighting the officers, he called to someone inside and just a moment or two later, a young lieutenant appeared from within. Making an effort to quickly straighten his cap and uniform, he made his way quickly down to the fence and met the group at the gate.
“Lieutenant Ramage, sir,” the man snapped to attention instantly upon coming to a halt, presenting a very crisp salute. “First Marine Siege Regiment…”
“Very good, Lieutenant,” Dill acknowledged immediately, barely coming to attention long enough to give a perfunctory salute in return. “I believe you boys have something you’d like us to have a look at?”
“Yes sir…!” The young man was professional, but was also quite nervous. The Royal Marines might technically be under the command of the navy, but he was in the presence of the British Army’s Commander of Home Forces nonetheless, and it was a quite intimidating situation.
“Lead on then, lieutenant,” Dill urged, his expression and tone complete seriousness as Ramage opened the wrought iron gate and ushered them through.
As the quartet made their way up the slope toward the nearby bunker, the drivers of the armoured cars took that as their queue to stand down for the moment. They turned their vehicles off the road and onto the grass verge on the opposite side, seeking what little cover they could amongst clumps of shrubbery and low trees. The Lanchester 6x4 was a huge, seven-tonne beast with a six cylinder engine and nine millimetre armour plate. A two-man turret was mounted above the fighting compartment at the rear of each vehicle, each armed with both a .50-caliber and .303-caliber Vickers machine gun.
As the men shut down their engines, one gun crew remained on alert in their turret, keeping a careful eye out for danger from the sky while the rest took a break and brewed some tea. Another crew would relieve them in a few minutes until each had done a ‘shift’ in turn and all had had a chance to get some tea and a bite to eat.
Ramage led General Dill and the others past the first bunker and further on up the slope toward the cliffs. Mostly cleared land gave way to seemingly impenetrable thickets and gorse bushes, although the lieutenant managed to find a narrow pathway that had been cut through. They moved quickly through the underbrush in single file, the bushes at times towering above their heads, and the heavy ground cover suddenly opened out into cleared land once more as the group drew close to the cliffs themselves. At that point, Ramage stopped for a moment and crouched low to the ground, all copying his actions through instinct.
“Pays to keep one’s head down this close to the edge, gentlemen,” he advised, slightly breathless and whispering as if there might be an enemy close by to hear them. “Jerry’s watching us as sure as we’re watching them, and although they generally don’t bother making anything of it, they may decide to call in some Stukas if they think anything out-of-the-ordinary’s going on.” He cocked his head to the right. “Not far now… right this way, sir!” And with that he was off again, moving quickly but still keeping low to the ground as he took them through the thick grass of that windswept summit toward the rear of another bunker twenty metres away that appeared to be sunk directly into the top of the cliff face itself.
A concrete-sided trench barely wide enough for two men was cut into the earth at the cliff edge, and at the far end awaited a thick, metal door. A wide embrasure was cut into the concrete wall beside the door at eye level, allowing an old Lewis gun to poke through. As they approached, the weapon remained trained on them the entire time, a pair of cold and serious eyes watching from behind the weapon.
“Open up, Sar’nt Rogers…!” Ramage called out as they drew near the door, and it was only as the sound of bolts being drawn could be heard inside that the muzzle of the Lewis gun turned away. The iron door opened outward and the lieutenant pulled it wide, allowing the other officers to pass through. The inside was standard for what was known in the area as a ‘Dover Quad’; a type of pillbox found exclusively in the Dover area. A square box of brick and reinforced concrete measuring four metres along each wall, the structure possessed wide embrasures on all sides and an overhanging slab roof that gave good protection against fire from strafing aircraft, although some experts claimed that in combination with the wide embrasures, it was also inherently vulnerable to ricochets from machine gun fire from below. A large brass telescope on a heavy tripod was bolted to the concrete floor at one of the forward embrasures, looking out over The Channel and the French coastline beyond.
“Ten…hut!” Rogers, the ranking NCO inside the bunker shouted loudly as they entered, and the other three men present instantly snapped to attention.
“At ease, men,” Dill declared with a slight grin, barely stopping to brace up himself as he quickly returned the sergeant’s salute. “Don’t mind me… I’ll not take up much of your time.” He turned his attention back to Ramage, adding: “What do you have for me, lieutenant?”
“Of course, sir,” Ramage replied instantly, stepping up to the telescope and checking it was correctly aimed and focussed. “It’s all ready for you.”