Two poets have loved it, and we do not wonder, for it is the best little town in the island, old village and new town together, sheltered by Shanklin Down and with the extraordinary fissure in the cliffs called Shanklin Chine, a ravine about 60 yards wide and 100 yards deep, made by a stream cascading into pools in the green depths below, falling musically down. Ferns and flowers cling to its steep sides.

There are wonderful walks through the trees and shrubs of Luccombe Chine with its hidden talkative spring, and at the Landslip where great boulders thrust themselves up ruggedly among low twisted trees. The hydrangea hedge on the sunny strip of turf, known as Keats Green, was in its glory when we called, running for three-quarters of a mile along the cliff walk, and Luccombe Common was covered with gorse and daisies and little trees. Even without the ceaseless murmuring of the sea through the trees it would be a captivating place and we can well believe that, walking or living here, Keats would think out the immortal opening line of his Endymion, "A thing of beauty is a joy for ever." At the top of the Chine stands the village with its old cottages, its ancient yews, vigorous elms and cedars, and a gabled and thatched inn with little bow windows.

The town is rich in public gardens where we may sit and watch the ships pass up and down the Channel or listen to the community singing when the gardens are aglow with fairy-lights. It is good to know that Shanklin's community concerts have attracted attention far and wide and that singing is heard here not only in English but in French, German, Danish, and Welsh.

The old church stands a little aloof, drawing its cloak of ash trees about it in the shelter of the Down. It has lost much of its ancient aspect, but keeps one of its i4th century windows, a 14th century piscina, two l7th century chairs, and a splendid 16th century chest carved with the name of Thomas Silksted, Cathedral Prior of Winchester and the date 1512. The timbered lychgate, handsome with its clock and bell, was set up in memory of a lord of the manor.

The two poets who loved this place were Longfellow and Keats. Keats began his long poem Lamia in a cottage under the cliff in the days when he came to the island in his pathetic search for health; and Longfellow came to the inn on the slope of Shanklin Chine in the old part of the town. This verse he wrote is let into a brick pillar from which water trickles for the thirsty traveller:

0, traveller, stay thy weary feet;
Drink of this fountain pure and sweet;
It flows for rich and poor the same,
Then go thy way, remembering still
The wayside well beneath the hill,
The cup of water in His name,
The little spring discovered by the court physician to Charles II is still running bravely.

We do not wonder that the population of Shanklin has gone up 50 times in 100 years, for it is an enchanting place, with an average of five hours of sunshine every day, with heights about 800 feet above the sea, and with down and copse in the safe keeping of the National Trust. Darwin thought there was no place like it by the sea and did some writing here.

Text courtesy of: Southern Life (UK)