| John Sokol |
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| Jumpers at Beachy Head Here at Beachy Head, just south of the White Cliffs of Dover, this chalky bluff drops five hundred feet to the jagged rocks below. Ever since the fifth century, thousands have jumped from this peak that sits in alignment with coordinates of nearby Stonehenge. From the sea and the rocks, the ghosts of dead Druids seem to call to the living like Circe to Odysseus. Some people drive over the edge in their cars, others run headlong and leap like track stars in the Long Jump; many stand at the precipice and dive Hail Mary. There are the swan-divers and the cannon-ballers, the reverse-two-and-a-halfers, the sliders and cliff-bouncers who change their minds too late. There are the timorous, who go gently, who inch their way backwards, then hold on for hours until they are rescued or until they drop. There are the curiosity-seekers, who go only to peer over the edge, but never return. Screamers and stoics, teenagers, housewives and tourists, doctors and farmers: each year -- drowning in life -- they jump into the deep end. |
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