Sharon Feinstein

Last weekend I took my best friend to East Sussex for her birthday. In the late autumn sunshine we climbed the South Downs and soon found ourselves standing at Beachy Head, that mysterious point 162 metres above sea level, where people come from all over the world to end their lives. Morbid and surreal it may be, but this wild and dramatic spot seems to have exercised an almost mystical hold on the unhappy and desperate for many years. Records state it is since the 7th century, when St Wilfrid found that the locals were jumping off the cliff in despair after a three-year drought. About 20 people a year end their lives here, hurling themselves over the steep chalk cliffs to the swirling eddies and currents below, milky white before they mix with the freezing cold grey-blue breakers. The seas are notoriously dangerous with unpredictable currents and strong winds, throwing up ships on the rocks. We stood on these breathtaking chalk cliffs, which are shells thrown up from the sea and pounded together over centuries, and watched the wheeling gulls, wondering about the lives lost so tragically here. The few small white crosses and bunches of flowers are the only eerie reminder of the lone figures who have stood there over time, feeling that absolutely all hope is lost and only death can release them. Even stranger, as we had come away to celebrate life, not death, and we went back to our small, country hotel to toast to my friend’s birthday, her continuing good health and our love of life and long friendship

This entry was posted on Wednesday, November 11th, 2009 at 9:24 pm and is filed under SharonSpeak. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.